S(>LDIER OFTOH/rilM 



By STANLEY PORTAL HY^ 



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THE 

DIARY OF 
A SOLDIER 
OF FORTUNE 



Digitized by the Internet Arciiive 
in 2011 witii funding from 
Tine Library of Congress 



littp://www.arcliive.org/details/diaryofsoldierofOOIiyat 




iiii: Ai-inoK IX 1899. 



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THE DIARY OF 

A Soldier of Fortune 



BY 



STANLEY PORTAL HYATT 



His Experiences as 

Engineer 

Sheep Station Hand 

Nigger Driver 

Hunter 

Trader 

Transport Rider 

Labour Agent 

Cold Storage Engineer 

Explorer 

Lecturer 

Pressman 

American Soldier 

Blockade Runner 

Tramp 



ILLUSTRATED 



NEW YORK 

JOHN LANE COMPANY 

MOMXI 



^ 



'.'%- 



Fr,>.iislior 
APR 18 19H 



CONTENTS 



Chapter I. 










PAGE 
I 


Chapter II. 










8 


Chapter III. 










20 


Chapter IV. 










32 


Chapter V. 










45 


Chapter VI. 










53 


Chapter VII. 










62 


Chapter VIII. 










76 


Chapter IX. 










89 


Chapter X. 










100 


Chapter XI. 










112 


Chapter XII. 










122 


Chapter XIII. 










133 


Chapter XIV. 










144 


Chapter XV. 










154 


Chapter XVI. 










165 


Chapter XVII. 










176 


Chapter XVIII. 










187 


Chapter XIX. 










202 


Chapter XX. 

V 










210 



vi 


CONTENTS 


Chapter XXI. 


, 


Chapter XXII. 






Chapter XXIII. 






Chapter XXIV. 






Chapter XXV. 






Chapter XXVI. 






Chapter XXVII. 






Chapter XXVIII. 






Chapter XXIX. 






Chapter XXX. 






Chapter XXXI. 






Chapter XXXII. 







PAGE 
220 

232 

240 

269 
277 
286 
298 
306 

333 
341 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



The Author in 1899 

Outside Palapye Stadt 1 

Pool on Lotsani River J 

Geelong Mine, November 1897 

River Camp, Geelong "| 

River Camp, Geelong J 

The Author's Hut, River Camp (exterior) 

The Author's Hut, River Camp (interior) 

First Workings, Geelong Mine "j 

Geelong, after a year's work j 

Pack-donkeys for Shooting Trip — Malcolm 
Portal Hyatt on right 

Lion Cubs 

Bulawayo in the early days ] 

A Mine Compound 

A Mashona Kraal 1 

Some of our followers J 

Amyas Portal Hyatt . 

A Drift in Rhodesia "j 

On the Road j 

Baobab Tree "j 

In the Bush Veld J 

Mrs Stanley Portal Hyatt 

Wreck of s.s. Afasdafe^ 

Katubig, Samar J 

Officers, Fort San Ramon ^ 

Outside Fort San Ramon j 

Malcolm and Stanley Portal Hyatt 



Frontispiece 
facing page 16 

33 
38 

SO 

54 

82 

104 

148 
178 
221 

236 

272 
304 

324 
342 



THE DIARY OF 
A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 



CHAPTER I 

The vessel on which I left England the first time 
was — and I believe is still — one of the finest and 
fastest sailing ships ever launched. She had been 
built in the days when the cargo-tank was still a 
horror of the future, and she held the record from 
the Cape to Melbourne, having made the run in 
seventeen days. True, she had done the feat by 
accident, involuntarily, having been unable to heave 
to ; but the fact of her achievement remains. 
However, when, as a youngster of seventeen, I was 
a passenger on her, she was not trying to startle 
the world of sailormen. Her skipper was careful — 
the ship's company used to put it more crudely and 
emphatically ; he liked to put his vessel to bed 
before he, himself, turned in ; and the mates knew 
better than to set a single stitch more canvas until 
he reappeared. On the other hand, he used to hold 
a service every night before he shortened sail, and, 
possibly, that may have compensated for the extra 
work he caused. At anyrate, it is to be hoped that 
his prayings in the cabin neutralised the effect of 
what was being said about him on deck. 

I did not like that skipper. Even now, I look 
back on him with a definite amount of resentment. 



2 THE DIARY OF 

which the ordinary traveller would not understand. 
On the average mail boat, with its hundreds of 
passengers and its fixed time-table, the skipper is 
the " captain," a gold-laced personage, possessing a 
bland smile and showing infinite patience in answer- 
ing futile questions. He appears at regular inter- 
vals, suave and shaven, in the saloon, on deck, in 
the smoking-room, and, before one out of a score of 
those on board has learnt to know him at all, the 
voyage is over. On a sailing ship, however, the 
" captain" becomes the "old man" omnipotent and 
always present. If his liver is out of order, every- 
one scurries to cover ; if he has a fit of religion, 
everyone shares in his gloomy depression and 
hums alleged hymns ; if he looks on the whisky 
when it is yellow, the entire ship's company be- 
comes afflicted with what is usually an unquench- 
able thirst. 

There is no gold lace about the old man of a 
sailing ship. This particular specimen used to 
wear a frock-coat of semi-clerical cut, and one of 
those wholly detestable hats, hybrids between the 
silk hat and the bowler, dear to the heart of the 
retired Anglo-Indian. Even in the Tropics, when 
the pitch in the seams was bright and sticky, and 
the livestock in the coops abaft the forecastle was 
gasping and dying for want of the breeze which 
would not come, the old man would stalk up and 
down the poop in that same garb, a female relative 
on either arm. I did not like him, as I have said, 
but he had a certain strencrth which one could not 
help admiring. Most people, meeting him on land, 
would have taken him for an uneaten missionary, 
who had awed his local heathen into a state of 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 3 

trembling submission, either by his grimness or by 
his possible toughness. One could imagine him 
converting a whole tribe, and then marching back, 
at the head of the inevitable punitive expedition, 
to avenge the roasting of his successor. But he 
was certainly out of place in command of an Austra- 
lian clipper. The second mate, who had been in 
the United States, used to declare that the old man 
was a Hard-shell Baptist, although he admitted he 
was not quite certain of the tenets of that particular 
sect. Personally, I do know that the skipper 
abhorred tobacco and alcohol, and regarded me as 
a malign influence, possibly because I had objected 
to sharing a cabin with a man in an advanced state 
of tuberculosis. , 

It was an uneventful trip, despite its length. 
There were some twenty passengers in all, mostly 
men with various complaints, ranging from alcohol- 
ism to consumption, and we went through the usual 
round of quarrels and reconciliations. We played 
nap for matches in the midshipmen's berth during 
the dog watches, and dozed and read and smoked 
for the rest of the day. We fished for albatross 
when we got down south, and tried in vain to pre- 
serve the skins of those we caught. It was too 
long a voyage, of course, and yet as a whole it was 
very pleasant, even despite the dreary influence of 
the skipper ; but, none the less, the best moment 
of it seemed to be when the tug took our tow-line 
a few miles south of Sydney Heads. 

The moon was just rising as we dropped anchor 
in Watson's Bay. Somehow, the memory of that 
night seems absolutely fresh to me even after fifteen 
years. We had seen nothing of Sydney Harbour, 



4 THE DIARY OF 

save the lights along the shore, and the heads 
themselves loomingup black and threatening against 
the sky ; and yet, the moment the ship pulled up to 
her cable, a sense of the perfect security and peace 
of the place seemed to come on you, and you 
realised suddenly the beauties of the scene which 
the morning sun was going to reveal to you. I 
have seen many harbours since then, but I think 
the only ones which excel Sydney are Dar-es- 
Salaam, the Place of Peace, in East Africa, and 
Nagasaki. On this occasion it was the absolute 
stillness after the hundred days on the never-still 
ocean which told at first ; then, from over the 
water, very faint yet very distinct, came the bark- 
ing of a dog, and the longing to be on land again, 
the natural instinct of man, swamped any regret 
one might have felt at quitting the old ship and 
the good fellows on her. 

Looking back at it now, I realise that I must 
have been pretty green when I landed in Sydney. 
Since leaving Dulwich, two years previously, I had 
been working for a firm of engineers, whose head, 
Roger Dawson, was one of the pioneers of electric 
lighting in England, and I had picked up a certain 
amount of technical knowledge ; but beyond that 
my experience had been very limited. I was just 
a lanky, ungainly boy, who had outgrown his 
strength, and was suffering from that worst form of 
shyness, the one which makes you bluff clumsily to 
try and get through. 

It is a wretched thing to be shy. I believe I am 
so still. Even dealing with publishers and editors 
and mining engineers has not hardened my shell 
completely ; and, more than once, when I have 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 5 

wanted a cheque particularly badly, I have gone 
into an office to ask for one, and then come out 
without having managed to reach the point. So 
I must be shy, for I am always convinced that 
publishers and newspapers owe me money morally, 
if not actually. On the other hand, I have never 
felt a moment's nervousness on the platform, perhaps 
because I have always been certain that my audience 
knew no more about my subject than I did myself, 
and so could not contradict me. Yet in Sydney, 
though I was put up for the New South Wales Club, 
and should have been only too glad to have taken 
advantage of the fact, I could never muster up 
courage to pass through its doors. 

Those were the days when Sydney abounded, 
not only in larrikins, but in fan-tan shops as well. 
All down Lower George Street — probably the lowest 
George Street in the world — you would find those 
little gambling dens, which the police were, appar- 
ently, unable or unwilling to close. You usually 
went down a long, matchboarded passage into a 
large and grimy room at the back, where you 
would see a score of men, mostly larrikins and 
sailors, clustered round a big, matting-covered table. 
The game is simplicity itself — you merely bet on 
how many little brass coins will be left when a 
Chinaman has counted them off by fours at a time ; 
you put your money on nought, one, two or three, 
or combinations of these, and you win or lose 
accordingly. It is not very exciting, though you 
can generally find some squalidly picturesque details 
in the setting. I can still hear the long nails of the 
Chinese croupier, those horrible, gruesome claws, 
scratching over the matting as he raked in the lost 



6 THE DIARY OF 

money, still see the unconcealed spite on his face 
as he paid out to an unusually successful gambler. 

Sydney may be pleasant enough in these days 
— it might have been pleasant enough then for a 
visitor who had plenty of money, although it was 
just after the bank failures and trade was still 
paralysed — but, personally, I was only too glad 
when, a fortnight after landing, I had the chance to 
go to a big sheep station over four hundred miles 
up country, in the driest, hottest part of New South 
Wales. It was a fine place, splendidly kept up, 
splendidly stocked, and in later years I often found 
myself comparing the miserable little flocks of a 
few hundred scabby sheep and goats, of which the 
Afrikander farmer is so proud, with the hundred 
and thirty thousand head of stock we had on that 
run. Yet, somehow, I cannot say that station life 
made any great impression on me ; certainly, it 
never appealed to me. Even so far up country as 
that, there was little suggestion of the back-blocks, 
and no hint at all of the Australia of the novelists. 
It was all quite prosaic and quite proper. I daresay 
I should have stayed there much longer, perhaps 
have settled down to it altogether, had it not been 
for the horse-racing. It was not the races we saw 
that wearied me, but those we talked about. They 
formed the one subject of conversation, until I grew 
absolutely to loathe the very mention of them ; and 
I believe it was this, rather than the fact that the 
prospects were extremely poor financially, which 
really sent me drifting back to the coast. 

I got back to Sydney with two pounds in my 
pocket, and but a meagre chance of earning more. 
I tried to cut things down to the limit, for the first 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 7 

time learning what a really cheap eating house is 
like — you could get splendid sixpenny meals in 
Sydney — but I was soon absolutely broke. It was 
then I lost my first dress suit. I had been very 
proud of it, and I had, so far, regarded it as potential 
wealth ; but the little Hebrew down in the Argyll 
Cut, that detestable place where the larrikins drop 
lumps of blue-metal on the heads of passers-by, 
cross-examined me so sharply about it — where had 
I got it, why was I selling it — that I almost began 
to fear that I really had stolen it ; consequently, 
when he raised his original offer of seven and six- 
pence to ten shillings, I believe, for the moment, I 
looked on him as a generous benefactor, who was 
saving me from being turned out of my lodgings 
and becoming a " Domain Squatter," from sleeping 
out in that public park which was then the common 
camping ground of all the broken men, and all the 
cosmopolitan rascality, of Sydney. 

I have often wondered what became of that ugly 
little Semite ; whether he went to Johannesburg 
and became rich through buying gold shares or 
stolen gold, whether he stayed in Australia and 
reached wealth through Parliament, or whether the 
larrikins treated him as they should have done down 
in that same Argyll Cut. At anyrate, he got my 
dress suit cheaply enough ; and yet, perhaps, the 
beggar brought me luck, for, within a couple of 
hours, I had got a job to overhaul the electric 
lighting of a big coffee palace in the centre of the 
city. 



CHAPTER II 

Australia to-day seems entirely devoid of the 
element of Romance. Possibly, the same can be 
said of any prosperous country, for excitement 
means insecurity and dislocation of trade. On the 
other hand, it does seem rather remarkable that 
practically all the successful Australian stories of 
adventure should have dealt with violent crime of 
the bushranger type. Nowadays, those who would 
have been bushrangers a few decades ago, who are 
still bushrangers in spirit, find a safer and more 
remunerative field for their energies in politics. Life 
has become drab, for you cannot well admire the 
man who is piling up the National Debt for you, 
greatly though you might have been interested in 
his father when that gentleman was merely robbing 
your richer neighbours. 

In the end my job petered out, and I had to do 
as I might have done all along — cable for money, 
an unpleasant confession of failure. I left the 
country without regret. It had never made the 
least appeal to me, perhaps because of its very 
order and security, and the only incident I can 
remember which even verged on the picturesque 
was the arrest, as a rogue and vagabond, or its 
Australian equivalent, of a man who had been 
one of our Parliamentary candidates only the week 
before. 

I came home round the Horn, again in a wind- 
jammer, and once more the trip, a hundred and 

8 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 9 

twenty days in duration, was perfectly uneventful, 
except for the fact that, owing, I believe, to the 
steward's desire to save rnoney, we ran short of 
provisions, and, after eating the cow, which was 
disgustingly tough, had to borrow off a German 
oil-tank we were lucky enough to meet. I often 
think that sea novelists and sea poets must have 
wonderful luck in getting their experiences — or is 
it that those experiences make them break out into 
fiction and verse ? Altogether, I have spent about 
a couple of years as a passenger on various craft, 
which have ranged from a tiny Philippine coast- 
guard to a Cunarder, and have been on pretty well 
every sea, yet I have never had a maritime adven- 
ture, never even been seasick. Luck does go that 
way. I might have got copy for two or three 
more novels out of one shipwreck. The thing has 
been done before. 

I suppose most budding engineers want to be in- 
ventors. Certainly, during the eighteen months I 
was at Home I had the craze badly ; and the nation 
was the richer to the extent of protection fees on 
five epoch-making inventions ; though it showed 
an utterly callous indifference to the value of them 
all. The first was a camera. I claimed that it 
was the lightest and neatest ever invented. 
Possibly I was right, and undoubtedly it would 
have been the most expensive to manufacture ; so 
the makers passed it by. The next patent was for 
a bicycle brake, which would have been so power- 
ful and sudden in its action that it would have 
upset the machine, and probably killed the rider. 
Then came a steam-engine valve, which, besides 
not being entirely novel, would have leaked badly 



10 THE DIARY OF 

as soon as it became worn. An arranorement for 
glazing the windows of railway carriages I still hold 
to have been good, if only because the big German 
firm, which had the model, made innumerable 
excuses for not returning it, and finally managed 
to keep it in the end. 

The pick of the inventions was, however, a 
paraffin lamp for using the incandescent mantle. 
One of my brothers and I worked on that together, 
and we had a company promoter ready to float it 
— when it was ready, I grew quite used to fires 
during the experiments. We kept a box of sand 
at the end of the bench, and every time the lamp 
burst we used to empty this over the blaze. The 
thing did work, there was no denying that. When 
the atmospheric conditions were right, or the 
vaporiser was in a good humour, the light was 
far brighter than that obtainable from coal gas ; 
but at other times it either poured out volumes of 
thick black smoke, or blew the mantle to pieces. 
We never succeeded in getting an automatic adjust- 
ment ; and, in the end, we lost about a hundred 
pounds over it. 

It was during these lamp days that my brother 
Malcolm and myself signed contracts to go out to 
Matabeleland for two years. That country was 
just being opened up in earnest ; the second 
Matabele War was practically over, and the dawn 
of prosperity was come — at least the financial papers 
said so, and they must have known. Our mine, 
the Geelong, was to be the first actually to produce 
gold, and, with that end in view, a special staff 
was recruited in England. My position was that 
of electrical engineer, and, though I was a little 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 11 

doubtful of my own capability to see the thing 
through, it was good enough to risk, good enough 
for me, at anyrate. 

I think, in all, there were eighteen of us 
went out for the company. Of these, my brother 
is still in Rhodesia, whilst I know where a 
couple more are to be found in England ; but 
the others are scattered far and wide. I know 
that several are dead ; I feel fairly certain that 
several more have also made their last trek ; and 
I cannot say definitely that more than two of 
the remainder are alive. The men who were in 
Rhodesia in those days dropped out of the race 
rather quickly. The new-comers stand the country 
well enough. They scoff at the idea of its being 
unhealthy, never realising that the conditions of 
life have changed completely. They would have 
died off fastenough in the bully-beef-and-mealie meal 
days, perhaps faster than did our fellows, because, 
though the latter were not those detestable people, 
desirable citizens, they were of a much more hardy 
and self-reliant type. They were not settlers. I 
do not think anybody then wanted to settle in the 
country ; the main object was to make some money 
and go home before the fever or the natives finished 
your career ; but, incidentally, we broke down 
the way for the settlers. 

I was twenty when I went out to Matabeleland, 
but I looked a good deal older. I remember I 
proposed to a girl two or three days before I 
sailed, and, after receiving a qualified acceptance, 
was quite sentimental for some time, really until 
I began to get some good shooting. Then I 
forgot that she, being wise, had ceased to write. 



12 THE DIARY OF 

Perhaps it was being in love that made me hate 
Port Elizabeth so much. We landed there for 
our long journey up country, and I took a dislike 
to it, right away. It is one of those towns where 
there are always flies in your morning coffee, and 
blatant, loud-voiced men in the hall and bar of 
the hotel, men whose sole object in life seems to 
be to impress the newly arrived Britisher. They 
did impress me, certainly. 

I remember once hearing a Yankee describe the 
town ; he said : " It's hotter than blazes. It's all 
Jew boys and flies and plague and niggers ; and 
I wouldn't stay there even if they made me Mayor. 
No, sir ; not even if they threw in the customs' job 
as well." 

Up in Rhodesia the name of Port Elizabeth was 
anathema. It was there that the whisky came 
from — literally. True, it was in Scotch bottles ; 
but only the Teutonic gentlemen at the coast 
could tell you what the contents were. It was 
said that the essential part, that which actually 
gave you alcoholic poisoning, came from the 
Fatherland, in which case I admire that country 
for having the sense to send it away. Then, too, 
the customs people and forwarding agents, being 
patriots, in a colonial sense, did their best to 
delay the transit of stuff imported direct from 
Home, holding that it ought to be handled first by 
a local firm ; and so, in the end, the unfortunate 
Rhodesian had to be content with inferior or 
doctored brands. Consequently, it is not un- 
natural that, when a Port Elizabeth man did 
chance to come north himself, he often heard 
unpleasant things. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 13 

Railhead was at Palapye then, or rather at 
Palapye siding, eleven miles from Khama's town 
itself. We jolted northwards in leisurely style. 
Sometimes the train attained a terrific speed — 
twenty miles an hour or so — but as a rule it went 
at the far more dignified gait beloved of the 
English south coast lines. Once, near Taungs, 
from where I was sitting on the footboard of the 
carriage, I saw the engine driver shoot a hare, jump 
to the ground, pick it up, and regain his footplate 
without his mate having to slow down. We spent 
a night at Mafeking. The stationmaster insisted 
on that. The train had been only three days and 
four nights doing seven hundred miles, he said, 
and if it went on in that way it would be estab- 
lishing a most dangerous precedent ; other pas- 
sengers would be claiming to be carried at that 
fearful rate. 

Next morning we jogged along again, until 
about midday, when we reached a siding where 
we stayed till nightfall. The line is, of course, 
a single one, and we were supposed to be waiting 
for another train to pass us. Unfortunately, the 
other engine driver was doing a similar thing a 
few miles higher up, and we might both have 
been where we were all night had not a travelling 
nigger carried the news of our situation to the 
down train. Nobody was sorry when we finally 
went on again. There was any amount of whisky 
on board, but no one had any water, except the 
engine driver, who declared he could not spare 
a drop. Consequently, it was a thirsty day, if 
not exactly a dry one. Evidently, the guard 
found it so, and I am afraid he was not exactly 



14 THE DIARY OF 

a teetotaller ; for when at nightfall it was sug- 
gested that he should light the carriage lamps, 
he first denied that there were any lamps, then 
denied that it was dark, then finally, after bump- 
ing his head in an attempt to stand up, murmured 
softly that he had no pain now, and went to sleep 
on the floor of his van. After that, we did the 
job for ourselves. 

Amongst the passengers was Doel Zeederberg, 
the famous coach contractor, probably the best- 
known and best - liked Dutchman north of the 
Crocodile. From that time onwards for seven 
years I often met him, but after I left the country 
I heard no more of him till 1908, when I saw 
in The Daily Telegraph a curt announcement of 
his death in a London nursing home. It was a 
curiously pathetic end for a man who had done 
so much, whose whole work had lain ahead of 
the railways, in the open air, to come to England 
and die amid the smoke and grime of the metropolis. 

We were five days and nights in all from Port 
Elizabeth to Railhead, about nine hundred and 
seventy miles. Last time I passed through Pala- 
pye siding all that marked it was a big nameboard 
and a derelict iron tank, yet in 1897 there was 
quite a township there — three or four stores, a 
hotel, a restaurant, five police tents and a couple 
of score of hovels inhabited by Greeks, coolies and 
natives ; whilst, in addition to these, there was a 
huge accumulation of stuff of all sorts — mining 
machinery, whisky, and provisions — waiting for 
transport. 

The only water at the siding was what came up 
on the water train, and the railway people were 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 15 

none too generous with regard to the number of 
trains they ran. So much water a day was issued 
to the hotel and the restaurant and the heads of 
businesses, but none to stray individuals. Washing 
of any sort was absolutely impossible. There were 
men in the siding who had not even rinsed their 
hands for weeks, and the flies and the dust between 
them did not tend to render that siding a clean 
place. At the restaurant, which consisted of a 
square mud hut with a roof of bush, they gave 
you one cup of tea, and no more. You could 
not buy a drink anywhere, at least openly, for 
Khama's country was strictly Prohibition ; al- 
though, after I had been there a day or two, I 
did manage to get some whisky from a store- 
keeper who had smuggled it in, but even that 
had to be consumed neat. 

Altogether it was a perfectly detestable spot, 
blazing hot by day, bitterly cold at night. There 
was always grit between your teeth, always flies, 
which had previously visited some Kaffir, trying to 
crawl into your eyes. If you smoked to keep the 
flies off, you got thirsty ; if you stopped smoking, 
the little brutes drove you mad. 

We were waiting for the wagons which were to 
take us to the Geelong mine — everybody seemed 
to be waiting for wagons in those months follow- 
ing the Rinderpest, when nine-tenths of the cattle 
were dead — our stuff was all ready, but day after 
day went by, and no transport riders appeared. 
Finally, we were told we must trudge the eleven 
miles into Palapye, and either wait there, or go on 
another trek to the Lotsani Drift, where there was 
supposed to be plenty of water. 



16 THE DIARY OF 

It was a very dry tramp into Palapye, through 
heavy sand, the only landmarks being the Rinder- 
pest wagons, which had been abandoned when 
their cattle died a few months before. Some had 
been looted, but the number of these was small, for 
Khama has always had his tribe well in hand ; and, 
whilst the civilised part of him looked upon theft 
as a deadly sin, his savage side — and every African 
native is a savao^e at heart — knew how to devise 
suitable punishments for thieves. Palapye Town — 
Palapye Stadt, they used to call it, though I believe 
the wretched spot has been abandoned now — was, 
if possible, more hateful than the siding. It was 
reputed to be the largest native settlement in Africa. 
I daresay it was. I am certain it was the most in- 
sanitary one. 

Khama's people, the Bamangwatu, are Christians. 
At least the Blue Books and missionary reports say 
so ; and, consequently, it must be true. Certainly 
they sing hymns with great and inharmonious fer- 
vour, and steal whenever they think it safe so to do. 
As labourers they are useless, as warriors they are 
despicable ; in their homes they are the dirtiest 
of South African races. Possibly they have some 
redeeming virtues ; but they hide these so carefully 
that no white man — save some stray missionary, 
perhaps — has ever discovered them. Yet, none 
the less, Khama, their chief, will go down in 
history with his great foes, Umzilakazi and Loben- 
gula, as a native statesman and a black gentleman. 
I admire him as much as I detest his people. I 
met him in Palapye the day after I arrived there. 
He was on horseback, and pulled up to greet, 
through an interpreter, the youngster who was 




OUTSIDE PALAPYE. 




LOTSANI RIVER. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 17 

with me and myself. There was nothing remark- 
able in his appearance ; and yet, as was the case 
with several chiefs I met subsequently, especially 
old Gabaza, the great M'Tchangana warrior, who 
was poisoned by the Mashona in my camp, you 
could see he was used to giving commands which 
had to be obeyed. I have no love for missionaries, 
and even less for native Christians, but the great- 
ness of Khama, the missionaries' chief, goes far 
towards redeeming all the faults of the others. But 
then, of course, Khama was the convert of John 
Mackenzie, who, if not the greatest missionary, 
was certainly the greatest Imperial statesman who 
ever breathed in South Africa. There could be no 
better proof of our utter lack of a sense of propor- 
tion than the fact that, as a nation, we have forgotten 
that Mackenzie ever existed ; and yet, but for what 
Mackenzie did in the eighties, when he saved 
Bechuanaland, the Gate of the North, from the 
Boers and the Germans, there would never have 
been a Rhodesia or a British Central Africa. 
Griqualand West would have been the boundary 
of the British colonies. Cecil John Rhodes was a 
great man, but, even though I commit the unpardon- 
able sin in saying so, I hold that John Mackenzie 
was greater. "^ 

But to go back to the subject of Palapye Stadt — 
I hope I never go back to the spot itself — it stank 
of natives. There was no denying that fact. Even 
the hymns could not sterilise the effluvia. It was 
a huge slum of round mud huts. The roads were 
merely wide stretches of offal-littered white sand ; 
whilst the centre of the town, the aristocratic 
portion, merely consisted of a few galvanised iron 



18 THE DIARY OF 

stores, where the white men, most of whom were 
of Hebrew extraction, bartered skins for shoddy 
trade goods. Under the eaves of every one of the 
thousands of huts hung Rinderpest biltong, strips 
of dried or putrescent meat which had been cut 
from defunct bullocks. These did not furnish the 
main smell — the Bamangwatu themselves did that 
— but they helped to swell the total in a noticeable 
degree. 

We put up at one of the stores, where they fed 
us badly and charged us highly. Water was almost 
as scarce as it had been at the siding. There was 
no chance of a wash, a thing which we had now 
been without since leaving Mafeking a fortnight 
previously. The men in the store were accustomed 
to it, some, I fancy, from birth ; but, to put it mildly, 
we were itching ; and so, after a couple of days in 
the stadt, we decided to trek out to the Lotsani 
Drift, and wait there for the wagons. 

In Palapye they talked eloquently of the Lotsani 
River. To them it was as splendid as Southend is 
to the Londoner ; so we started out with high hopes. 
We were going to quench our thirst and have a 
wash ; but we had yet to learn that in Africa things 
never quite come up to expectations. There was 
no running water in the Lotsani, just a baked mud 
watercourse with pools every few miles, and the 
pools themselves were hardly up to the mark. 
Doubtless those firms which disfigure the hoardings 
with meat extract advertisements would have waxed 
enthusiastic over the water, for it would have re- 
minded them vividly of their own products. When 
a bullock felt he had Rinderpest, he struck out at 
once for the nearest pool of water ; sometimes he 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 19 

died on the way ; but, if his strength held out, he 
died in the water itself; and tens of thousands of 
cattle had caught the plague within a few miles 
of the river. Consequently, the pools consisted of 
beef extract, as you could tell the moment you 
approached them. The water stank, even when 
you had boiled it. There were fat slimy things on 
the surface, and fatter, and even more slimy, fish in 
the mud at the bottom. When you had washed 
you felt more dirty than ever ; when you had had 
a drink your mind turned to the question of emetics. 
Yet for over three weeks we drew all our water 
from the Lotsani. It was an auspicious beginning 
to my seven years in Africa. 



CHAPTER III 

The wagons turned up at last. I was new to the 
trek bullock in those days ; but, even to me, it was 
obvious that the cattle were a job lot. As a matter 
of fact, both wagons and spans belonged to their 
native drivers, who were typical Bamangwatu, 
utterly inefficient ; whilst their oxen consisted of a 
number of untrained beasts, many of them cows 
and heifers, which the Rinderpest microbes had 
disdained to attack. Probably, they were the 
worst teams in the country, at least it is to be hoped 
they were. They stuck in every drift ; sometimes 
they stuck even on the level ; and their drivers had 
not the least idea of how to make them go on. 
With every trek they grew more leg weary and 
thin, being unaccustomed to the yoke ; and though 
the loads were only three thousand pounds' weight, 
instead of the regulation eight thousand, it took 
over six weeks to do the two hundred miles' journey 
to the Geelong mine. 

We followed the old Pioneer's Road as far as 
Macloutsie ; but from that point onwards we had 
to cut our own track. There were many thousands 
of tons of machinery to come up after us, and 
transport rates were so high that a short cut 
seemed a matter of paramount importance. True, 
in the end, our road proved to pass through such 
atrocious country that transport riders preferred 
the old track, across the three-quarter-mile-wide 
drift on the Shashi, where the sand was so bad you 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 21 

had to put forty-four cattle on each wagon, and 
then on through the Dry Stretch, up the Tuli Road ; 
but as yet the company did not foresee this. South 
African mining companies seldom do foresee things 
of that sort. Technically, their staffs may be com- 
petent ; but, as far as the crude pioneering part is 
concerned, they generally get some man who knows 
a little, and thinks he knows all, about mining 
work ; just as, in their compounds, they have a 
man who knows, and thinks he knows, as much, or 
as little, about natives. 

The abandoned wagons were the main point 
of interest on that old road. They stood singly, in 
twos, in tens, in one place even thirty together, 
here in a bare patch of sand, there amongst the 
bush, with the wild vines trailing over them. 
Some, but very few, had been looted, as was 
obvious from the broken cases lying round them ; 
but the majority had their loads still intact, the 
buck-sails yet over them, looking as though they 
might have arrived a few hours before and the 
cattle were away grazing ; then a stray gust of 
wind would raise the corner of the sail, and it 
would flap in the air, showing the stuff rotting and 
discoloured beneath it. Then you noticed that the 
hyaenas had eaten the neck strops, and the yokes 
had rotted where they lay, and the wheels looked as 
though at the first jolt they would crumble into 
powder. And here were the black embers of a fire, 
all the white ash having been carried away by the 
summer rains ; and a rusted iron pot over some bits of 
half-burned mopani log, which the white ants had 
attacked in vain. Some empty bully-beef tins, off 
which the paper had long since peeled, a few pages 



22 THE DIARY OF 

of an illustrated paper, torn, yellow, and barely 
legible, a bottle or two, also without labels, an oven 
in an ant-hill, and a rotting whip stick showed where 
the transport rider had camped before the awful 
scourge caught him, and in a few short hours 
wrecked the work of a lifetime. They were in- 
tensely human — and therefore bitterly sad — those 
relics of the ofreat disease. 

If the water were near to the stranded wagons, 
you would find the pool full of great, slimy fish, and 
if you were curious enough, or rash enough, to strip 
and go in, you could grub out of the mud the skulls 
and bones of what had once been trek oxen ; and 
when you tried to drink that water it gave you a 
queer, sickly feeling, and you thought, perhaps, 
more of the ruined transport rider than of the 
possible enteric ; but still you had to drink it, 
even though it stank ; you would gladly have 
walked ten miles to another pool, certainly, but 
for the fact that you knew it would reek as 
badly as, or even worse than, the one you were 
leaving. 

If there was no water close, you would find a 
veritable valley of dry bones, skulls, with the noses 
crunched off by the mill-like jaws of the hyaenas, 
bones without a vestige of skin or flesh left on them, 
horrible, abominable, not skeletons, in some sort of 
order, but just scattered remains, which had been 
dragged about and chewed up by the schelm. All 
the schelm got fat in those days of the Great 
Disease, so fat that, like Jeshurun of old, they 
kicked, or at least lost their caution, and so were 
easily destroyed. But, as every transport rider and 
trader can tell you, when you kill one schelm — a 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 23 

lion, a hyaena or a wild cat — three more immediately 
turn up to eat the carcass, so that the last state is 
worse than the first. Some day, perhaps, I shall 
write a book on schelm, but it will be a failure. No 
one will believe me ; for whilst other orthodox books 
declare that the lion is a noble animal, the King of 
Beasts, I regard him, and his friends, the hyaenas 
and leopards, as unmitigated pests. But then, of 
course, the King of Beasts theorists have seen him 
in a cage, magnificent, and, if you will, regal, and I 
know him only as the brute who used to steal my 
oxen, and yet never gave me a chance to shoot 
him. 

There were twenty men and three wagons in 
our party, and we were the juniors of the crowd. 
From those data, it is not difficult to work out 
where we had to sleep. It was winter, and the 
Protectorate is a bitterly cold place at night ; but 
we had been sent out lacking nothing, and, in a 
very few days, we were used to sleeping on the 
ground in the open. Quarrels soon began amongst 
the crowd. As a whole, the men we had were not 
up to the usual Rhodesian standard. Profession- 
ally, they were good enough ; individually — with 
the exception of a couple who stood out in strong 
contrast to the rest — they were poor specimens ; 
and, when I compare them with the men I was 
associated with subsequently, I wonder how they 
got through as well as they did. Three out of four 
of them were of the wrong stuff. They wanted 
jam and butter and a man with a maxim gun, or 
at least with a tamer's whip, to drive the naughty 
lions away. In short, they were a typical mining 
crowd, and the colonial-born amongst them were 



24 THE DIARY OF 

no more hardy than the others. I got a bad im- 
pression of Rhodesian mining men from the outset, 
and I never saw the slio-htest reason for altering^ 
my views. Possibly, however, later years have 
brought improvements in the general tone of mine 
life. 

Few men nowadays visit Macloutsie. Twenty 
years ago it represented the frontier of civilisa- 
tion ; but to-day Railhead is in the heart of the 
continent, and Macloutsie is merely a long stage 
on the road down to Cape Town, where you find 
the steamers which take you Home. Macloutsie 
is in Khama's country, then a Prohibition area, 
but it was excited, almost incoherent, the day we 
struck it. There was nothing much to look at in 
the place, and much to avoid. The fort, occupied 
by men of that finest of forces, the Bechuanaland 
Border Police, was constructed of bully-beef cases 
— they sent that same bully up to the mines later 
on, and when we opened the tins, which cost us 
two shillings a pound, it was nearly black^ — and be- 
yond this there was just a big mud-walled telegraph 
office, a transmitting station, and a store or two. 
The most noticeable features of the settlement 
were the number of abandoned wagons and the 
piles of koodoo horns. No buck suffered more 
severely from the Rinderpest than did the koodoo, 
and the local heathen had taken a fit of afoino- out 

o o 

into the veld and collecting the skulls of the dead 
bulls. These they had brought in by hundreds, then, 
finding the market glutted, had thrown them down 
in disgust outside the stores, where they lay, rotting 
and covered with weevils. 

A case of whisky had just come up to Macloutsie, 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 25 

either smuggled in, or imported openly in virtue 
of that most valuable of favours, a liquor permit 
from Khama. At anyrate, it was there. The 
police camp was deserted ; in the telegraph office 
the instruments were clicking away unheeded ; 
practically the whole white population being 
gathered in one big hut. Macloutsie was "on 
the drink " ; and as the straw envelopes and empty 
bottles outside the door grew to exceed in number 
those remaining in the case, so men began to talk, 
according to the way of the frontier, of those who 
had already gone on the last trek. There was the 
linesman who had died of black-water, whilst out 
alone, looking for a broken wire ; the hyaenas had 
nearly finished when the natives came on the scene ; 
there was the police trooper who had gone out 
shooting in that deadly, waterless stretch of 
country where only the bushman and the blue 
wildebeeste can find their way ; he had never re- 
turned, though it did not need much insight to 
say what his end had been ; and yet another, a 
trader — and that was the worst of all — had gasped 
out his last oath whilst crawling round the hut 
on his hands and knees, moaning about those 
twenty-foot pythons you can find on the Palm 
River. 

It may have been the fault of that same smuggled 
case of whisky, but when we reached Macloutsie 
everyone — everyone white that is, the natives never 
count — was talking of these snakes, just as at Tuli to 
this day they talk of lions ; and at Enkledoorn, where 
the Dutchmen are, of native risings. And yet one 
could not help sympathising with the men. Think 
of it ! The main stream of transport was already 



26 THE DIARY OF 

diverted to the west, up the big road which ran 
through Tati to Bulawayo ; and within a few 
months, certainly within a year, the railway would 
be open, and no wagons at all would pass through 
Macloutsie. The place was doomed, already mori- 
bund. If you grew weary of being in the bully- 
beef fort, all you could do was to go to the mud- 
walled telegraph station and listen to the clicking 
of the instruments, transmitting messages to the 
north, or else wander down to the store, where 
the proprietor, besides being insolvent, had no 
whisky. What wonder then that, when a case 
of spirits did come through, men made the most, 
or the worst, of it. I, myself, knowing the life, 
can understand it. There is so much to forg-et 
in those dreary out-stations, the men who have 
already gone, the men who are going before your 
eyes, the uncertainty of your own stay. The past 
is so bad that you long to forget, even for a few 
hours, both the present and the future. Whilst 
the spirit is in you, you may be able to scoff at 
it, but when you have only tea without milk to 
drink, and bully beef and Boer meal to eat, you 
resent fiercely, if you are a man at all, the idea 
of dying uselessly in such a forsaken spot, dying 
and being buried in the sand, with a cairn of 
stones over you, so that the hysenas shall not 
dig up your body. Of course men drink in those 
out-stations, and they always will drink, so long as 
there are such places, and so long as alcohol will 
bring them temporary oblivion. And what right 
has the theorist at home, who has never been 
tempted, has never gone beyond the shelter of 
his county council and the grip of his rate 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 27 

collector, has never known fear and what fear 
brings, has been bred up in the belief that the 
natural end of man is to die in bed of zymotic 
disease, what right has he to condemn men who 
drink because they want to forget that the shadow 
of the Angel of Death is always across their path ? 
We struck lions first a little north of Macloutsie. 
One of the herd boys found their fresh spoor, and 
we camped down that night expecting to have 
them round the cattle. True, they did not come, 
but to us, raw from Home, the anticipation was as 
bad as, or even worse than, the actual fact would 
have been. Later on I got the measure of a lion. I 
reckon I have heard the brutes round my camp on 
five hundred nights ; but that first night, when we 
did not hear them, was worse than all the others 
put together. I did not sleep. I was really scared. 
I knew the lion could see and I could not, and all 
the time I was picturing him coming out of the 
long grass in dramatic style, and jumping on me. 
Now I know that he would have jumped on the 
cattle, or the niggers, before he thought of a white 
man, and, both of these being so bad, there would 
have been no loss to the sacred cause of Progress 
and Light in Darkest Africa ; but I am a good 
deal older now, and I am writing in a land where 
lions are, brutally enough, kept in cages for idiots 
to gape at, instead of being destroyed mercifully in 
their own country. That was a bad night for me ; 
I remember only one worse, and that was during 
the last Philippine War, when I turned in feeling 
absolutely certain we should all be boloed before 
the morning, and boloed we should have been — a 
bolo is an ugly two-feet-long knife — had not two 



28 THE DIARY OF 

big dugouts full of American infantry chanced to 
come up the river just before midnight. On the 
other hand, these lions never materialised. Possibly 
they were merely fictions evolved from the brain of 
a Bamangwatu herd boy ; but I think not. That 
stretch of country has schelm enough and to spare. 

I wonder how many men have ever been thirsty. 
I do not use the word in the sense the cyclist, or 
the athlete, or the soaker does, but crudely, going 
back to elemental things. Hung-er is bad. I have 
been hungry in civilisation, when I was dead broke, 
more than once ; in the Far East I have lived for 
a whole month on boiled bats, and that is getting 
near the limit ; but I would sooner be hungry 
a hundred times than thirsty once. Hunger is a 
slow and lowering thing ; you lose strength and 
you lose heart, but it rouses no violent passions ; 
its action is too prolonged for that, and the physical 
pain from it is comparatively small. It is a longing 
rather than a suffering. Thirst is different. In a 
few hours it grows from a discomfort to an agony, 
and madness and murder are the natural, the 
inevitable, results. I have seen a man shot for 
the sake of the basket of clams he was carrying 
on his back, and, starving though I was, reckoned 
the shooting a crime ; but in Bechuanaland, on the 
one occasion when I was really thirsty, I would 
have shot a man for a cup of water. 

The incident occurred about twenty miles south 
of the Tuli River. The wagons were getting on 
with deadly slowness, and from the outspan where 
we were to the river itself there was not a drop 
of water. Twenty miles may not seem much in 
England ; it would seem very little to me now, but 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 29 

then there was a handful of us youngsters, raw, 
soft, totally unacclimatised, and whilst the colonials, 
and those who had adopted colonial ways, insisted 
on our trekking on ahead, alleging that the wagons 
could not carry water for us, they remained behind 
with the wagons — and the water bags. It was 
a typical mining man's trick ; a transport rider 
or a trader does not do such things. Curious how 
one remembers incidents such as this. If possible, 
my resentment is stronger now than it was then, 
perhaps because I have a better sense of propor- 
tion. It was the Afrikander spirit — do the young 
Englishmen a bad turn. 

We were told to start at dawn, and to follow a 
cart spoor to the Tuli, where we were to await the 
wagons. No white man ever carries a pack in 
Africa, even a seasoned old prospector will not try 
it, yet we had to take rifles, blankets, food and 
water — and we had been little more than three 
weeks on the veld. Moreover, there were no water 
bags, and we had to be content with vulcanite 
bottles, holding a pint each. We, my brother and 
myself, got on about five miles without a drink ; 
then we opened his water bottle, to find that, 
whilst it had been hanging on the buck rail of the 
wagon, someone had stolen half its contents. We 
got along another five miles fairly well ; but the 
weight of our packs and rifles, and the heavy sand 
under foot, was telling. It was about ten o'clock 
then, and the thirst began. Our pace was slacken- 
ing down, and by midday we had added only a 
couple of miles, and, though we had fought hard 
against the temptation, the water bottles were 
empty. There were eight miles more to do, 



30 THE DIARY OF 

theoretically, really about twelve, the most ghastly 
trek of my life. We had to go on ; we had to 
stick to our packs and rifles, and yet, with every 
step, the pain of the thirst increased. We were 
raw, and that was the main trouble ; yet even an 
experienced man would have found it hard going 
under the conditions. By three o'clock the pain 
had become positive agony. I would have killed 
a man for a drink then. We stuck to it, just 
because we had to, because the only chance of 
relief was the water ahead. At about the sixteenth 
mile we came on another youngster who had started 
before us — the way we went off, in ones and twos, 
shows how raw we were — he was lying down, 
sobbing, and I remember well the job it was to 
make him get up and come along. 

The water of the Tuli River, I can taste it still. 
Not only did it put a stop to that abominable 
agony of thirst, but, after we had drunk quarts of 
it, wallowed with our faces in the pool, sucking it 
up, we realised that it was the first clean water we 
had tasted since leavino- the mail steamer at Port 
Elizabeth. In the latter town you suspected, with 
reason, that there were microbes everywhere, and 
you tried to kill them with the villainous spirit of 
the place ; I expect you did kill them, in fact ; on 
the train it was as bad ; whilst throughout Bechuana- 
land we had found nothing but extract of Rinder- 
pest. Yet the Tuli, running down a broad sandy 
course, five hundred yards wide in places, though 
the actual stream was seldom more than a few feet 
across, was clear and sparkling, real water, better 
at that moment to me than any champagne I have 
since drunk. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE ai 

Two days later, the wagon party caught us up. 
It had suffered terrible privations, of course, gone 
through struggles which no mere Britisher would 
understand. As I have said, I was very young 
and raw at that time ; subsequently I was a trans- 
port rider myself for years, and so I got the 
measure of those folk. 



CHAPTER IV 

There was a time when everyone in Rhodesia was 
interested in the Geelong mine, when, in fact, it 
furnished the community with its chief topic of 
conversation. It was to be the test property of 
the country. For some inscrutable reason, the 
mining industry was to stand or fall according to 
the way it turned out. All that is ancient history 
now. The Geelong failed, and the mining industry 
went on, growing beyond all anticipation ; whilst 
it is safe to say that nine-tenths of the present 
Rhodesians never give a thought to the very exist- 
ence of the old camp. 

The mine itself was on a small rise at the foot 
of a great tree-covered kopje. From this point 
the ground sloped away, undulating but steadily 
falling, to the Umsingwane River, three miles dis- 
tant, where the nearest water was to be found. It 
was bush veld of a type common in Matabeleland — 
mopani scrub with here and there a giant mahogany- 
tree, good game country certainly, but also, as it 
proved only too quickly, very unhealthy. 

When we reached the Geelong there was a 
galvanised iron canteen and store under the big 
kopje, and two or three grass huts on the farther 
side of the rise itself. That was the extent of the 
camp. Including the storekeeper, there were, I 
think, four white men there, and these had only 
arrived a few days ahead of us. Except for such 
work as had been done by the "Ancients" in 

32 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 33 

presumably prehistoric times, the reef was un- 
touched. 

For a start, we were all sent down to the river, 
where a camp had been built consisting of seven 
or eight grass huts on a small kopje, with a large 
lion-proof cattle scherm just below them. In a 
way, the position was not a bad one, at anyrate 
it was always preferable to the settlement which 
only too quickly sprang up on the mine itself. I 
think I lived in the River Camp, as we called it, for 
about six months ; I know I was about the last of 
the construction staff to leave it. After I had gone 
it was turned over to the unfortunate wretch who, 
for the time being, had the dreary task of driving 
the big pumping engine we put in down on the 
river bank. 

From the River Camp, looking up the Umsing- 
wane Valley, you could see a number of small granite 
kopjes dotted about the veld, some five miles away. 
Beyond these again was a regular range, the 
Mahaulihauli Hills, really an outlying portion of 
the Matoppos themselves ; whilst opposite us, across 
the river, were the M'Patane Hills. When we 
first occupied the River Camp, in the latter part 
of 1897, all these kopjes were infested by small 
bands of Matabele warriors, who, still uncertain as 
to whether the white man would abide by the terms 
of peace settled by Cecil Rhodes, and perhaps 
fearing that they themselves would be punished 
for their share in the recent rebellion, had not yet 
given in their guns. Practically speaking, they 
were still rebels, and, as there were hundreds of 
them within half-a-day's march, the position of 
our little band of about twenty white men, unpro- 



34 THE DIARY OF 

tected by any form of stockade, was not a very 
enviable one, though it must be admitted that 
no one seemed to worry greatly. True, there was 
some talk of a Maxim gun being ordered ; but I 
fancy there was never any ground for the idea ; 
certainly, the gun never came ; and within a 
couple of months we had ceased to see the 
Matabele fires amongst the hills, and, in fact, 
some of those same warriors had already come 
in to work in the wood-cutting gangs. 

The lions were a more serious nuisance than the 
natives. Night after night, they kept us awake 
by patrolling round the little hill and growling. In 
some ways the training was good for those who, like 
myself, were raw to Africa. After a week or two 
of it, our point of view changed. Anger, or rather 
hatred, took the place of fear, and we grew to re- 
gard the pseudo-King of Beasts as a pest instead 
of as a danger. 

For some time, our visitors got nothing bigger 
than a fowl ; but at last a horse belonging to an 
Afrikander was left out after dark, and the lions 
made short work of it. The following night a 
trap-gun was set over the little that remained, 
and when a party, consisting of about half-a-dozen 
white men, went out next morning they found a 
big male lion, wounded through the intestines, but 
still full of fight. I was not in the firing party. 
If I had been, perhaps I should not be writing 
now, for it seems that bullets flew, mostly un- 
aimed, in every direction. For a few moments 
the position was critical — a charging lion and empty 
cartridge cases ; but, before anyone was hurt, the 
brute fell to the rifles of the two men who kept their 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 35 

heads. Then the carcass was borne back in 
triumph. I photographed it, and the Afrikanders 
told us how the great deed had been done. 

So far, we had escaped any rain ; but soon after 
the slaying of the lion the first storm broke, and we 
began to realise how joyous Matabeleland could 
be. It is hardly correct to say our huts leaked, 
the latter word is wholly inadequate. The roofs 
seemed to collect the rain, to concentrate it, and 
direct a steady stream on to our stick-and-grass 
beds, whence, after soaking our blankets, it poured 
over the earthen floor, forming large mud puddles. 
Then, too, with the rain the flies appeared. The 
cattle scherm, which had been built much too near 
the camp, was an ideal breeding ground for these 
pests, which increased in numbers every day, until, 
at last, it was actually impossible to eat or drink 
in the place during daylight. The moment you 
poured out a cup of tea, half-a-dozen flies com- 
mitted suicide in it ; if you tried to put food into 
your mouth, flies followed it in. It was all un- 
speakably disgusting, one of those experiences 
which words cannot describe, because only those 
who have been through the same thing would 
believe the facts. 

We had not been in the camp long before food 
supplies began to run short. Even at the start, 
everything was abnormally dear. Sugar cost one 
and ninepence a pound, tinned meats — jungle pro- 
ducts — two shillings a pound ; flour was five pounds 
a hundred-pound bag ; and after a while these, and 
most other things as well, always barring whisky, 
became unobtainable. For three weeks we lived 
on sardines and mealie porridge, washed down by 



36 THE DIARY OF 

tea without milk or sugar ; sardines three times a 
day, not a taste of meat, butter, or even jam. I 
have loathed sardines ever since. 

The shortness of food lasted some time, and 
ofreat was the orrowlinor over it, not without reason 
too, for the fever season was coming on, and we 
had the prospect of beginning it half starved. The 
consulting engineer — the Boss, as he was generally- 
called throughout the country — came in, most un- 
justly, for the blame. Not that he worried much 
about what men might say concerning him. He 
knew that he had ordered ample stores in England, 
everything of the very best quality ; and that those 
stores had arrived in Palapye. If the forwarding 
agents were fools — and, as a transport rider, I 
found afterwards that most are combinations of 
the fool and the knave — and sent up boilers instead 
of bully beef, it was absurd to blame the Boss. He 
had to use such tools as he could get ; he was the 
hardest worked man in Rhodesia ; and I am certain 
of one thing — if his staff was on short rations, he 
was no better off. He was not of the stuff from 
which the average mining engineer is fashioned. 
He never asked a man to do things he would not 
do himself. Still, whoever was to blame — and I 
have not forgotten the names of the chief offenders 
— the fact remains that, when the fever really 
began, we were not fit to face it, and the miserable 
record of that wet season was very largely due to 
the hungry months which had preceded it. 

Another factor which had a good deal to do with 
the ill-health of the camp was the way the hours of 
work were arranged. We started at seven in the 
morning, worked on without a break until twelve, 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 37 

then, after an hour for lunch, continued again until 
half-past five. It was a perfectly fatuous scheme 
in a country where sickness is one of the employer's 
greatest difficulties. Few men anywhere can make 
a decent breakfast before seven o'clock, least of all 
in the Tropics ; consequently, a very large propor- 
tion went to work after breakfastingr on two or three 
whiskies, and were off-colour all day. Then, too, 
the hours were much too long for the climate, 
whilst there was always a certain element of 
"nigger-driving" at the expense of those who, 
like myself, were under agreement, and could not 
leave the detestable place. 

Of course, I know the hours we worked were 
the usual ones on mines. But that is no excuse, 
rather otherwise in fact ; for, in Africa, when you 
hear anyone citing the "custom of the country" 
as an argument, you know that some perfectly 
idiotic practice is being upheld by the only reason 
which can be adduced in its favour. A good 
instance is furnished by the way mine Kaffirs 
are fed. Some Transvaal or Kimberley mine 
manager, having to deal with Basutu, a mealie- 
eating race, evolved the theory that mealies are 
the correct food for natives ; and he has been 
followed slavishly by each succeeding idiot. At 
anyrate in my time, nine mines out of ten in 
Rhodesia would buy nothing but mealies for their 
boys, despite the fact that rapoko, the natural food 
of the local savages, was both cheaper and more 
nourishing. The mealie is good enough as a food 
when it has been winnowed and pounded in a 
wooden mortar ; but when ground in the usual 
mine fashion, very coarsely and with all the grit 



38 THE DIARY OF 

and dirt left in, it is almost uneatable. More than 
half the sickness on the Rhodesian mines was due 
to the badly ground mealies, and practically the 
whole of the labour troubles of the early years 
arose from the same cause. 

On the Geelong, however, we had an unusually 
sane native policy ; many of the boys received 
extra money in lieu of rations, and were allowed 
to feed themselves ; as a result, the compound was 
almost always packed at a time when other mines 
were filling the air with lamentations concerning 
the wickedness of the Matabele and Mashona, who 
would not take up the black man's burden, as 
represented by the duty of using a shovel or 
hammering a drill in a badly ventilated working, 
and sustaining their strength on practically uneat- 
able mealie porridge. There was an appalling 
amount of cant and nonsense talked in those days 
concerning the labour question, chiefly by those 
who were already convinced that their own mines 
were not payable, and saw, in the alleged shortness 
of labour, a most convenient excuse for postpon- 
ing the day of reckoning with their shareholders, 
drawing their salaries meanwhile. Still, there was 
never any hint of this sort of thing on the Geelong. 
The latter turned out a failure, but that was solely 
the fault of the reef. It was given every chance 
to prove a success. 

The fever came on us suddenly, and the doctor 
soon had his hands more than full. The hospital 
consisted of a large and extremely leaky grass hut, 
and all the drugs, and surgical instruments as well, 
had been held up at Palapye ; as a matter of fact, 
they did not arrive until the worst of the sickness 




RIVER CAMP, GEELOXG MINE. 




RIVER CAMP, GEELONG MINE. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 39 

was over. The doctor had a few drugs of his own, 
and, being an unusually able man, contrived to pull 
through somehow, so there was no open scandal, 
and the forwarding people continued in the same 
old ways ; but, at one time, out of the staff, which 
then amounted to about sixty men, half were 
incapacitated by fever, or the results of fever, whilst 
the death roll, which included a couple of outside 
men, contained, I think, eight names. In a camp 
controlled by men of the pioneer type the record 
would probably have been very different ; but in 
the early days of Rhodesian mining — and the 
Geelong was the first mine to crush — there was a 
spirit of amateurishness and hurry ; and I believe 
that four-fifths of those who died on the mines in 
the first two or three years following the Matabele 
Rebellion fell victims, not to the climate, but to the 
miserable arrangements for their feeding and hous- 
ing made by the companies. They were half- 
starved and overworked, and when the malaria 
microbe came along he found their constitutions 
ready for him. 

I suppose all these outlying mining camps are 
the same, little Gehennas of envy, malice and all 
uncharitableness. Men get nerves and quarrel 
over nothing. The life is an utterly miserable 
one. You are cut off completely from the outer 
world ; the only society you get is that of your 
fellow-sufferers. You are always on the property, 
always at the beck and call of the company ; you 
lose all sense of being a free man. Then, too, the 
air is full of suspicion. If any rumour concerning 
the real condition of the mine reaches the outside 
world, everyone is suspected of having committed 



40 THE DIARY OF 

the horrible crime of putting the truth into a letter. 
You never know who is a spy. You live either 
in a mud hut, or a sweltering tin-roofed line of 
quarters, with rusted cans and empty bottles littered 
about outside, because the company cannot spare 
niggers to clean up the camp. Probably, the com- 
pany insists on your having your food either in 
a mess run by the secretary or else down at the 
store, in which it has a share. In any case, your 
food will be outrageously dear — a mine secretary 
likes to live in state — and it will taste of a coolie's 
dirty hands, conditions which are neither necessary 
nor pleasant. 

When you have got away from work for a time 
— you never finish work — there is nowhere to loaf 
except the canteen, where the whisky is a shilling 
a tot, and Bass four shillings a bottle. You go to 
the canteen and drink, because there is nothing 
else to do, because there is no apparent reason 
for self-restraint, and finally, most important of 
all, because it is the custom of the country. Once 
in the early days, for two or three months, the 
Geelong camp washed itself, shaved, put on clean 
clothes, and went back to decent ways. There 
was an American lady, the wife of a contractor, 
living in some huts at the back of the mine kopje ; 
and whilst she was there the whole place felt the 
influence of her gentle refinement ; but she left 
too quickly, and, at anyrate during my stay, her 
place was never filled. We had other women up 
there certainly, but they were mostly Afrikanders, 
and none of them was ever able, or perhaps anxious, 
to reform the camp. 

You must live in a mining camp to understand 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 41 

the real meaning of " evil-speaking, lying and 
slandering." Perhaps the Geelong was especially 
bad in this respect ; certainly, every man was at 
war with at least ten others, and when he was really 
sober every man loathed his job. Had we all 
been Home-born, matters would have been better, 
but we were unlucky enough to have some 
Afrikanders, and they upset all the rest. One 
man in particular, a half-bred Boer, on whom an 
English public school education had been wasted, 
was particularly virulent against my brother and 
myself, and succeeded in making us fairly miserable. 
Since those days I have had other reasons for not 
loving that same man, and I hope that, when the 
next South African War comes, I shall get a chance 
of settling our quarrel, finally. If ever a human 
being touched bed-rock in low meanness, that one 
did. Still, it is in his blood, I like the Boer ; I 
always got on well with him, once I learnt to know 
his limitations, and so ceased to expect much ; but 
the cross-breed, half Briton and half Boer, with 
the vices of both races, blatant, untruthful, brutal, 
is, like the Cape boy, one of Nature's mistakes, or 
rather one of man's mistakes at the expense of 
Nature. 

The cause of our offending against the Afrikander 
element was rather curious. It shows how pitifully 
small are the things which count in a mining camp. 
My brother and I knew nothing about shooting 
when we went up to Matabeleland ; consequently, 
the African-born used to treat us with a kind of 
patronising superiority ; but within six months, 
though we may not have been the best game shots 
there — -that is a reputation usually acquired by hard 



42 THE DIARY OF 

lying — the fact remained that we shot more buck 
than all the rest of the staff put together ; con- 
sequently, there were very real grounds for jealousy, 
at least according to South African standards. 

The Cornish, or to give it its more usual name, 
the Cousin Jack, element was always strong on the 
mine, and, of course, the Cousins formed a party 
by themselves, hostile to the rest. I came into 
contact with them a good deal, for when I had got 
my electric light running — successfully, after all — I 
was given the job of looking after and repairing the 
compressed-air drills used underground. I got on 
well enough with the Cousins for some time, until 
an ugly little incident happened, and from then 
onwards there was war. The Cornishman has 
much in common with the Essex man ; although, 
of course, whilst in the latter county there are 
practically no men of birth and education, in Corn- 
wall there is a very fine landed class, poor, perhaps, 
but intensely hospitable and kind hearted. So far 
as Africa is concerned, however, the Cousin Jack 
miner is the only Cornishman ; and the Cousin Jack, 
like the Essex man, looks on blackmail, not as a 
crime, but as an industry in which every sensible 
person will take a hand whenever opportunity arises. 
They were not long in getting to work on the 
Geelono;. The chance was a o-ood one. It was a 
Saturday night, and, for the first time in its history, 
the mine had draught beer, two barrels having 
arrived that morning on the wagons ; consequently, 
the chronic state of soddenness had been exchanged 
for something- more vig-orous. There were not six 
sober men out of the sixty, and one of the most 
drunken was a young Boer, a nice, clean-minde 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 4a 

boy. I had been down with fever — I usually 
got it about every third day on the Geelong — and 
I had not been near the canteen. On the other 
hand, I had happened to see that same youngster 
coming home, reeling, and I had put him to bed, 
unseen by anyone, and unknown to him. 

On the following morning the Cousin Jacks 
sprang their surprise. They accused the wretched 
boy of having endeavoured to assault the wife of 
one of them on the previous night, and demanded 
a hundred pounds down as compensation to allow 
the lady to take a trip Home and recover from the 
shock. 

The youngster, believing he could not account 
for his movements after he had left the canteen, 
actually agreed to pay, and great rejoicings had 
already started amongst the Cousin Jacks when I 
happened to hear of what was going on. Within 
an hour, my evidence, against that of a drunken 
woman, had knocked the whole scheme on the head ; 
but the Cornishmen never forgave my interference, 
and I had many a dirty trick played on me. The 
Cousins joined hands with the Afrikanders, a natural 
alliance ; but I cannot say they scored greatly, 
although they had some good opportunities. Of 
course, like every other sane man in Rhodesia, I 
always made my own Game Laws, or rather Game 
Law, which had but one clause — that I could shoot 
what I wanted, when I wanted it. Nominally, 
there was a close season and a schedule of Royal 
Game, and I know that, time after time, I was re- 
ported to the Mounted Police. Luckily, the latter 
were a most decent lot of fellows ; they knew that 
everything my brother and I shot we brought in, 



44 A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 

that we never indulged in the colonial sport of 
slaying for the mere lust of destruction ; conse- 
quently, they were conveniently blind, and would 
always accept the hind quarter of a reed buck 
provided it had a label on it stating that it came 
off a goat of abnormal size. 

The Geelong camp was always drink sodden, as 
was but natural under the conditions, and yet, on 
occasion, it could go further, and get raging drunk. 
The latter fact is curious, for, as a rule, it is usually 
the teetotaller, or at least the temperate man, who 
goes to that extreme. I can remember some 
horrible bursts, which always had their aftermath in 
the doctor being kept unusually busy, and, more 
than once, in a funeral. Generally speaking, these 
outbreaks were started by some trifling occurrence. 
One or two men would go clean over the line, and 
the rest would quickly follow, until every section of 
the staff had caught the infection ; and those who 
were not soaking at the bar in the canteen had got 
bottles of whisky in their offices or rooms. And 
then they blamed the climate when they developed 
black-water fever. 



CHAPTER V 

Malarial fever is a queer thing. I daresay the 
quinine-selling folk, and even some of the doctors, 
will want to start on my track with guns when I 
say that the mental effects of it are worse than the 
physical ; yet I say it advisedly, and I think I can 
speak with some authority, for very few men can 
boast, as I can boast, that they have had malaria 
over eighty times. Most of them get black-water, 
or blow out their brains, or go off in delirium 
tremens, long before they reach that splendid total. 

I think that Amyas, the younger brother who 
joined me in Mashonaland, had it turn and turn 
about with me, but I had nearly three years' start 
of him, and, moreover, he had the finest physique 
and the finest constitution of any man I ever met. 
Between us we reduced malaria down from the level 
of an illness to that of a beastly nuisance. We knew 
how to tackle it, and it never scared us in the least. 
Of course, in the background there was always the 
dread of black-water fever, but we used to ensure 
against that by drinking much Hollands gin, De 
Kuypers', I think it was, in tall, black bottles, 
an acquired taste, perhaps, but still a wonderfully 
practical one. 

We saw so many men die — practically all the old 
crowd has gone now — that we grew callous in a 
way, and yet we never lost heart. For one 
thing, the doctor on the Geelong was certainly 
one of the best fever men in Rhodesia, and he 
45 



46 THE DIARY OF 

taught me a good deal. On two occasions he 
pulled me right out of the Valley of the Shadow, 
not because he had drugs and a hospital, but be- 
cause he was determined not to let me go. He 
bucked me up — to use a crude phrase — and he 
made me look on malaria from the same point of 
view, as a disease from which no decently courage- 
ous man need die. Then I owe a good deal to Dr 
Koch. I met him in Bulawayo, really for the pur- 
pose of giving him some details concerning cattle 
sicknesses. I was a bit of an expert — Heaven 
knows I had lost enough cattle then — but he repaid 
me by telling me about his malaria experiments. 
He is a great old man. Doctors and pseudo- 
scientists may say what they like about Robert 
Koch, but they will never persuade me that their 
criticisms are due to anything but jealousy of a man 
who is too great not to admit that he has been 
mistaken. The average English doctor gives 
quinine in malaria cases. He has read in a book 
that quinine is the proper thing, and he plugs it 
into his wretched patient, at stated intervals, in 
stated quantities, like a county councillor screwing 
a rate out of his victims. 

Quinine may cure you, if you chance to take it 
at the psychological moment. It has cured a good 
many men, I believe ; but, if you take it sufficiently 
often at the wrong moment, it will kill you. Most 
men who are supposed to have died of malaria have 
really died of quinine poisoning. Quinine, ten 
grains every two hours, is both the Nicene and the 
Athanasian Creed to the ordinary English doctor, 
his way of salvation, and, at anyrate in my days, 
he used to kill his patients with rather unpleasant 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 47 

regularity. One doctor I met, however, dared 
to break away from the tradition and study the 
disease for himself. His patients did not die, at 
least when there was a chance of saving them ; 
and, when I came to talk the matter over in later 
years with Robert Koch, I found that the great 
German professor used almost the same words that 
I had heard from the young English doctor down 
in Matabeleland. 

I can speak as an expert on the malaria microbe. 
I know him as well as I know hyaenas. If you 
can strike the right moment, when he has developed 
the correct number of tails or legs or antennae, and 
you take about twenty grains of quinine, you will 
certainly kill him. At other times, however, quinine 
seems simply to act as a pick-me-up for him ; it 
spurs him on to further efforts. If you have a 
doctor who knows his work he will keep on taking 
samples of your blood until he finds that the microbe 
is ready and fit to be poisoned ; but, if he is not 
doing this, just drop his medicines out of the 
window, or give them to a cheeky Mashona, and 
take a strong aperient, followed by strychnine and 
arsenic tabloids. You will pull through that way, 
provided always that you believe that malaria is not 
a fatal disease. 

Black-water fever is, of course, different. I can- 
not say that malaria deaths ever troubled me 
for long. I hated to see the men die, but I realised 
that they were not of the stuff which has an un- 
questionable right to live. On the other hand, 
black-water is horrible. They tell me that nowadays 
they save most of the patients ; but I saw five out 
of six of ours die. I used to get a kind of hopeless 



48 THE DIARY OF 

feeling, and, as I nursed them, all the time there 
was drumming through my brain those most beauti- 
ful and most terrible of words, " I am the Resur- 
rection and the Life, saith the Lord." 

I have read the Burial Service myself on the 
Road ; I have heard it read only too often ; and 
yet I believe it stirs me to-day as much as it did 
when I was a raw boy of twenty, and first helped 
to carry a dead man wrapped in a blanket ; because 
there was so often a sense of waste and futility. 
The pioneers, the traders and the transport riders 
were not of the hooligan, football-watching ruck we 
have at Home ; and they ought not to have died like 
that. We could have spared the footballers so much 
better ; in fact, I, for one, would have seen them go 
gladly ; but the men who built up Rhodesia were real 
men, and the country will never see their like again. 

I wonder what Rhodesia's tale of dead is. The 
Chartered Company has never told us, and therein it 
has been very wise : for the mortality in those early 
days was, if inevitable, still abnormal. The terrible 
death rate was a temporary thing ; it represented 
the price of the acquisition of the country, not 
the price of its occupation. The new Rhodesians 
know nothing of these things — it is well for them 
that they do not — and there are very few of the 
older hands left to tell the story. And yet I believe 
most of us who have come through it are content 
— even though we are as poor as we were in the 
nineties — because we know that our country, our 
country in a sense which the post-war settler cannot 
understand, is going ahead after all ; and though 
few of us have any share in the rewards, and we see 
a cheaper class of men scooping in the profits, I do 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 49 

not think we trouble greatly, because we know that, 
as in our own case, they have but a life interest in 
their work ; the capital must revert to the Empire. 

I began this chapter with the intention of pointing 
out that malaria is chiefly mental, and annoying the 
doctors by saying so. I will go a little beyond that 
and say that I never saw a man die of malaria — 
malaria sans phrase. There was always some- 
thing else, alcoholism or the Funks, generally the 
Funks. 

I suppose malaria can be fatal ; I know it ought not 
to be so. If a man is not scared, if he makes up his 
mind to get out of his bunk at the earliest possible 
opportunity, if he looks on the thing, not as a mis- 
fortune, but as part of the daily round, he will not 
die. If he does die from it, he was not worth saving. 
He ought to have stayed at home, and become 
a municipal politician or a professional football 
player, or anything else that is vulgar and nasty 
and safe. 

I had my first dose of malaria in the Geelong 
River Camp. The doctor had shifted up to the 
mine, three miles away, and his hands were more 
than full. My bed consisted of sticks and grass, my 
pillow of a brown waterproof bag. I was alone 
all day long in the camp, not even a nigger to bring 
me a drink of water — such are the ways of mining 
companies — and I was five days and five nights 
before I got a moment's sleep. Moreover, I had 
been suffering from chronic dysentery and pleurisy ; 
and the only nourishment I had was what the doctor 
could manage to prepare and send down himself. Is 
it to be wondered at that I have no love for mining 
companies ? If I had died then — and I was very near 



50 THE DIARY OF 

it — they would have stopped my pay from the very 
day, and probably have buried me in a blanket. 

The doctor had no means of moving me, nowhere 
to move me to, in fact. I know now that the 
consulting engineer, the Boss, felt each man's death 
as keenly as though he had been brother to the 
dead man ; but he was only there at long intervals, 
and he had to trust to those on the spot. He knew 
they were poor tools, but they were the best he 
could get at the moment ; and, after all, his first 
duty was to his shareholders. The blame lies with 
his subordinates, many of whom were Afrikanders, or 
men saturated with Afrikander ideas. During the 
Boer War we got the measure of these people, 
and no sane Englishman would put them in re- 
sponsible positions to-day ; but at that time they 
were considered reliable, and were allowed to be in 
charge of Home-born men. I hate the Afrikander. 
I do not mind saying so — it is much better to be 
open in these matters — and I despise utterly those 
Britishers who throw in their lot with the Afrik- 
anders. '' Civis Romanus Sum," should be the creed 
of every Home-born man who goes out to South 
Africa. 

Drink brings on malaria, and malaria makes men 
drink. The two, the whisky and the fever, act and 
react on one another until no one can tell which is 
really to blame. The worst part of the fever is the 
terrible depression and restlessness which follows 
it ; for a few days after you have got out of bed 
everything seems utterly wrong and miserable, 
and those few days really constitute the critical 
period. 

I fear dysentery far more than I do malaria. It 




THE AUTHOR ^S HUT, RIVER CAMP. 




INTERIOR OF ABOVE. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 51 

will pull you down In less time, and whereas, after 
a certain point, the fever is just a passive misery, 
dysentery is always active suffering. I know only 
one certain cure for it, a native medicine made from 
the bark of a small sapling. It never seems to fail. 
I learnt of it first from a barman in Bulawayo. He 
was a ghastly wreck. The hospital had discharged 
him as an incurable, chronic case, and you could see 
he had not very long to live, unless the disease were 
checked ; moreover, he had not the means to leave 
the country. Knowing I was always out amongst 
the Kaffirs, he told me of this stuff — some other 
transport rider had mentioned it to him — and 
begged me to get some for him. Three days later 
I was down on the Matoppo Hills, and the first 
headman I spoke to obtained me a handful of the 
bark. It was nearly a year before I met the barman 
again ; but then he told me that two doses of it — 
it tastes very like ginger — had effected a complete 
cure. 

I have never known that stuff fail in real dysentery ; 
but, on the other hand, half of what is diagnosed as 
that disease is merely due to poison administered 
by the natives ; but the story of that, and of how I 
found it out, belongs to my trading days in Mashona- 
land. Whilst I was on the Geelong I was ready, 
like everyone else, to blame the climate for all the 
various sicknesses. 

I think I had more than my share of illness. 
More than once I was on the point of getting my 
agreement cancelled and leaving the country. Alto- 
gether, I was off duty seven months in my two 
years ; and I am quite sure I should have left, but 
for the good shooting I used to get when I was well 



52 A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 

enough to go out for a week-end on the veld. Some- 
how, that seemed to make up for it all ; and I am 
very glad now that I did not throw up the sponge, 
as, in that case, I should have quitted Rhodesia 
knowing only its drab and sordid side. 



CHAPTER VI 

You can find the history of the Geelong mine in 
any of the Stock Exchange books of reference. 
I believe some of the shareholders are still sore 
about it. They lost their money, of course, but 
as most of them were gamblers, rather than in- 
vestors, sympathy would be wasted on them. 
Then, too, the failure was a perfectly genuine 
one. The gold, or at least the payable gold, was 
all on the upper levels, and when that had been 
worked out there was only poor quartz left. At 
no time did the prospects, or the performance, of 
the mine justify the high price of the shares, and 
if the public insisted on overvaluing the stock, it 
should not growl at having been disillusioned. It 
went into the gamble voluntarily. 

On the mine itself we knew very little about 
the movements of the shares. Our mails were 
so slow, and, at first, so irregular, that we had 
practically no chance of speculating by post ; whilst 
we could not trust the telegraph, or rather the 
telephone. The latter was worked by the police 
— we had a camp of two troopers and a sergeant 
close to the canteen, conveniently close — and in 
their guileless intemperance they were always ceady 
to tell you what messages had been sent. Poor 
wretches, it was about the only subject of conver- 
sation they had. More than once, in casual con- 
versation, other men's most private business was 
blurted out to me ; whilst the company must have 
53 



54 THE DIARY OF 

seen every word which was transmitted I always 
knew that there was a regular system of espionage 
carried on by some of the mine officials, men of 
the true crawler type, anxious to curry favour with 
the Boss — who must have loathed them, being 
essentially a man — and so serious did the matter 
become at one time that we used to o-ive our 
letters to the transport riders to post in Bulawayo, 
distrusting the company's mail bag. 

That same atmosphere of suspicion was one of 
the most depressing features of life on the mine. 
In most cases it was the men who were conscious 
of their own dishonesty who were most active in 
hunting down others, fearing the presence of the 
straight men. My brother, Malcolm, was the 
victim of an exceedingly dirty trick of this kind, 
a trick which failed only because those who planned 
it told too many lies. It made us very sore at the 
time ; but afterwards we grew so used to that sort 
of intrigue on the part of the same little clique 
that it became part of the regular round of exist- 
ence. There was very little of brotherhood or 
loving-kindness in any of those mining camps ; and 
I am afraid that, if the same spirit had prevailed 
amongst the pioneers, Rhodesia would still be in 
the hands of the Matabele tribesmen. 

Our mine was the first in the country to crush, 
but I do not remember any outburst of gratitude 
on the part of the company, although the engineer- 
ing work, at least, had been carried out with ex- 
traordinary rapidity and efficiency ; but then our 
resident engineer, Edward Trevennen, was about 
the most able man I ever had the good fortune 
to work under. With the starting of the mill, life 



/k 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 55 

in the engineering department entered on a new 
phase. We were no longer construction, but main- 
tenance, men, repairing what other people had 
damaged. There was constant war between us 
and both the mill staff and the underground men. 
I thought then, and I still think, that our enemies 
were always in the wrong ; for whilst we were, after 
all, professionals, the others were, technically speak- 
ing, only labourers, who could learn all about their 
duties in a few days. Some of my particular foes 
of the Afrikander clique were in the mill ; and it 
was wonderful how often my electric light went 
wrong. The majority of the accidents could be 
accounted for only by a blow from a big hammer. 
It sounds absolutely idiotic now, writing of it in 
cold blood ; but at the time we were so run down 
and nervous, and shaken with fever, that we were 
all ready to do stupidly malicious tricks of that 
sort. 

In a year the Geelong camp grew from one tin 
store and two or three grass huts, to a wilder- 
ness of grotesquely shaped galvanised iron buildings, 
chimneys, and headgears, with arc lamps and big 
ash heaps or tailings dams to bear witness to the 
supreme triumph of civilisation. It was all very 
well arranged, and very practical, and very hideous. 
The surrounding bush had been cut down for fuel, 
the grass killed off by the dust and smoke. Every 
building seemed to contain a machine grinding out 
a hateful din, every open space to be littered with 
bottles and rusted cans and derelict packing cases. 
Every white man had a dog or a monkey, and 
upheld with fierce vehemence his pet's right to 
quarrel with his neighbour's animals. 



56 THE DIARY OF 

Even after the first shortness of food stuffs was 
over, messing arrangements were a constant source 
of grievance. The company itself started a mess 
and the employees had practically no option but 
to join. In itself, the scheme, as mapped out by 
the Boss, was an excellent one. He had found 
time to order a large consignment of the very 
best supplies obtainable in England, and his in- 
tention was that these should be charged to the 
staff at bare cost. Then, having so much else to 
do, he had to leave the details to the men on the 
spot. The result was that the first month's bill 
ran us into twelve pounds ten each for most in- 
different food, four pounds ten more than the store- 
keeper charged. There was trouble, to put it 
mildly, and the trouble grew to something very 
like mutiny when it leaked out that we had been 
debited with the capital expenditure on the coolie 
cook's garden, in addition to our legitimate mess 
bills. Next month the charge was reduced to 
eight pounds, but the grumbling over the cooking 
was so great that the company decided to get in 
a contractor — I forgot to mention that the first 
cook, a white man, died of fever before he had 
prepared a single meal — and then the crisis came. 
The great Fricadelle Row was one of the most 
important events in the history of the mine. 

It was all started by some hungry niggers. The 
contractor had been running the mess for about a 
fortnight, with fair success, when one morning we 
went to the mess house to find no breakfast ready. 
The natives, waiters and kitchen boys, had gone 
on strike, and were then squatting outside the 
compound manager's door, retailing their griev- 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 57 

ances. They were starving, they declared. In- 
stead of being allowed to have the pieces off the 
plates, they were forced to collect these together 
and mince them, the resulting mess being manu- 
factured into Fricadelles. Immediately, everyone 
remembered that Fricadelles had appeared on the 
menu at every meal. When questioned about the 
matter, none too politely, the contractor answered 
by getting furiously drunk and beating his wife, 
who took refuge in the room next to mine, her 
husband standing outside the door and shouting 
insults at everyone in the quarters, until the staff 
as a whole came out and drove him off. Next day 
the mess broke up, finally. Nowadays, the fuss 
we made about the matter seems rather childish ; 
but it appeared of paramount importance to us 
then, possibly because we had only petty little 
things with which to occupy our minds. 

One of the most striking points about the early 
history of Rhodesian mining is that it never led 
directly to any violent crime. I cannot recall a 
single instance of highway robbery or murder for 
the sake of gold ; and yet there were far better 
openings than the Australian bushrangers ever 
had. In Australia, the thief had but little prospect 
of escaping from the country with his booty ; if he 
made a big haul he was bound to hide it somewhere, 
at least for a long time. On the Geelong we were 
only about seventy miles from the Transvaal, where 
there was no extradition ; whilst, if the bushranger 
did not fancy sharing his loot with the Boer 
officials, he could make his way to the Portuguese 
territory. Police camps were few and far between ; 
telegraph wires were easy to cut and took a long 



58 THE DIARY OF 

time to repair, the linesmen usually travelling in 
leisurely fashion in a bullock cart, doing twelve or 
fifteen miles a day until the}^ came to the break ; 
the coach carrying the gold and mails had no guard, 
and usually no passengers, just a Dutch driver and a 
Basutu leader ; yet no one ever tried highway robbery. 

I will not say the matter was not discussed. 
More than once it was suggested, in a joking spirit, 
that we should form a little syndicate for the 
purpose ; but on one occasion an attempt was 
planned out seriously ; and the coach certainly 
would have been held up had not the tongue of 
one of the gang wagged too freely in a Bulawayo 
bar. They were all Germans in the scheme, and 
they sent two women of their own race down to 
the mine, nominally to ply their calling, really to 
obtain full details as to how and when the gold 
was sent. The coming of the women had the 
effect of sending the camp into the wildest racket 
in its history. So many men were away from work 
that the mill was nearly stopped for lack of quartz ; 
and, probably, every secret known was blurted out, 
every secret except the most important one — that 
in almost every case the " gold " on the coach con- 
sisted of boxes of lead, the real gold being sent in 
by Cape Cart. 

I never knew why the plot was abandoned in the 
end. The confederates may have found out that 
the police in Bulawayo had :already learnt of their 
scheme, or the unceremonious way in which the 
women were ultimately driven off the property 
may have frightened them ; at anyrate, the whole 
scheme came to nothing ; but the burst led to at 
least one death. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 59 

My two years' contract with the company ended 
in a splendid dose of fever, which lasted for nearly 
seven weeks. My brother and I had long since 
made up our minds to quit the mine, and go on a 
shooting expedition ; consequently, when the doctor 
advised me to take a trip into Bulawayo, just before 
my agreement ran out, I went gladly — it gave me 
a chance to buy the pack donkeys we wanted. 

Those were the good days of Bulawayo. The 
town was still Railhead, the distributing centre for 
the whole of Matabeleland. There may not have 
been plenty of money there, but, at least, there was 
unlimited credit, which, in the eyes of most people, 
was as good as, or even better than, having the cash. 
Money is a definite thing, which sooner or later 
comes to an end ; credit continues until the crash 
comes, by which time the wise man is out of the 
country. Not that there was any spirit of dishonesty 
in Bulawayo, any wish to avoid liabilities, at least 
on the part of the transport riding and trading 
section. As for the others — the clerks from the 
mining companies' ofifices and the Government 
officials, with their perfect puttee leggings and 
their hunting stocks, their swagger and their utter 
ignorance of the veld — I always gave them a wide 
berth, and so knew but little of them. I daresay 
they would have paid could they have done so ; 
but, when everyone is spending more than he is 
earning, twenty shillings in the pound becomes a 
vague, unattainable longing. Most people failed 
ultimately — I did, amongst others — but in the case 
of the Bulawayo storekeepers nine out of ten had 
started without capital, as the victims of the whole- 
sale German houses in Port Elizabeth ; consequently, 



60 THE DIARY OF 

the greater part of the losses fell on the latter, and 
no decent people were the worse off in the end. 

In 1899 no one in Bulawayo cared whether you 
paid cash or no. It was bad form to ask a man 
to settle an account. In the bars you signed a 
card for your drinks ; in the stores they entered it 
up to you. A stranger got credit as easily as an 
old inhabitant. What did a few bad debts matter, 
after all ? The country was going to boom ; in 
fact, the boom had actually begun, some years 
before, and, though the local officials and companies 
might seem to be making a mess of things, Rhodes 
would come by-and-by and put it all right, as he 
had done before. If they were not marrying and 
giving in marriage in Bulawayo, at least they were 
eating and drinking, especially drinking, ignoring 
the fact that the railway extension was being pushed 
on, and that soon, from being the terminus, the 
town would become a mere station on the line ; 
refusing to believe that the Boer War was inevitable ; 
never suspecting that Cecil Rhodes was already a 
dying man. A few months after I struck Bulawayo 
first, the flood of disasters came, and, ultimately, 
destroyed most of them. 

I bought six donkeys on the market square for 
fifty pounds ten shillings. They were a fine lot. 
Joshua, as we afterwards called him, the leader of 
the people, who always walked ahead, was the 
biggest donkey I have ever seen, whilst the others, 
if not so tall, were equally strong. It was charac- 
teristic of Bulawayo that, a quarter of an hour after 
I had cut my lot out from the span, the auctioneer 
begged me to let him put them up for sale again. 
That was the way of the town — you bought and 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 61 

you sold again immediately, not necessarily at a 
profit, but it gave you a little excitement and a 
legitimate excuse for a drink on the deal. However, 
I wanted my donkeys to carry packs from the 
Geelong to the Portuguese border ; so I actually 
paid for them, and drove them off to the outspan on 
the Tuli Road, preparatory to starting back to the 
mine, where I was to pick up my brother. 



CHAPTER VII 

When I left Bulawayo with those six donkeys I 
was new to the ways of the breed ; when I sold 
them four months later for ten shillings less than 
they cost I swore I would never travel with pack 
donkeys again. 

A pack donkey would be right enough, provided 
the track were always dead level, that there were no 
lions about, and that you never desired to unpack 
your loads ; on the other hand, in veld of the type 
we travelled through, rugged granite country for 
the most part, with innumerable sharp little dips 
down to streams, with the possibility, or rather the 
probability, of lions round your camp every night, 
and with packs which you were always wanting to 
open, and so disarrange, donkey transport becomes 
a veritable curse. 

The pack donkey is an absolute, unmitigated 
fool. When he comes to a stream he breaks into 
a trot down the slope of the drift, stops suddenly 
at the bottom, and shoots his pack over his head 
into the water. When he sees two trees very close 
together he tries to pass between them and gets 
jammed ; when you stop for a moment to do some- 
thing to one of his mates he wanders off into the 
bush and attempts to get lost. Then, too, lions 
prefer donkey flesh to any other, and will leave all 
their proper business to follow up your animals ; con- 
sequently, you have to tie the beasts round a tree, 
and sleep within a few yards of them — or, at least, 

62 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 63 

try to sleep. Then you will discover that a donkey 
never by any chance rests. If he is not kicking out, 
or shuffling about, he is chewing his neighbour's 
neck ; the only variation is when he endeavours to 
break his reim and stroll away into the jaws of the 
waiting lion. As for the packs, they are perfectly 
hopeless. Malcolm numbered each one, and made 
a list of its contents, whether food stuffs, trading 
goods, spare clothes or cartridges ; but after the 
second night's outspan the boys had mixed all 
together, and from that time onwards we ceased 
to think of arrangement. When you wanted any 
particular article, you emptied pack bag after pack 
bag until you found it. 

Joshua, the big donkey, had a special saddle, which 
Malcolm had bought cheap. I never knew what 
sort of animal it would have suited. I know it 
did not suit Joshua — and as he always insisted on 
walking in front, leading the people, his saddle was 
the first to get into trouble. The bags in it were 
long and shallow, and Joshua used to manage to 
empty them on to the veld at least twice a day. 
We solved the difficulty in the end by presenting the 
saddle to a nigger, and loading Joshua with bundles 
of raw hippo sjamboks ; but for the whole of the 
outward journey the thing was an absolute night- 
mare to us. 

We started out from the Geelong casually. We 
were going eastwards, to shoot game and buy cattle, 
and we were coming back to civilisation when the 
fit took us — that was the extent of our plans. Our 
boys came from the Sabi district — or at least they 
said so — and they promised to show us where game 
was plentiful as flies were in the Geelong camp ; 



64 THE DIARY OF 

whilst one boy, Tom, declared he could not only 
lead us to many hippo, but could also find a big 
store of sjamboks, hidden in a tree, which some 
stray white hunter had put there four years previ- 
ously. I wish I had a list of our stores. In after 
years I became a professional so far as these long 
trips of several months' duration were concerned, 
and I learnt to get things down to the irreducible 
minimum ; but still I know we made a good selec- 
tion that first time. Flour, tea, coffee, sugar, salt — 
those are the absolute essentials, at least half-a- 
pound of flour per man per day, and double the 
quantity of tea and sugar you would use at home. 
Bacon is almost an essential, for game has no trace 
of fat in it ; but it is not a bad plan to use it boiled, 
instead of fried, then it will not make you bilious, 
even if you trek immediately after eating it. Rice 
is useful, but sago is far better ; there is nothing to 
equal it at the end of a long night trek. Alcohol 
is useless. You cannot carry enough to last you 
throughout the journey, and the little you can take 
you will finish the first time you are cold and tired 
— at least, that was my experience — and then, next 
time you feel played out, you worry over your 
rashness, instead of pulling yourself together with 
strong tea. 

We left the Geelong joyfully — heavens ! how I 
had detested that camp and its inhabitants — and 
started down my telephone line to the old river 
camp. I had been bad with fever again, and I was 
so weak that the three-mile tramp was more than 
enough for me, and we halted for several hours in 
the river bed ; then we went on, and outspanned for 
the night at the M'Pempeze River, a perfectly rotten 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 65 

place for lions. We heard one of the brutes about 
a mile away, and, from the behaviour of the donkeys, 
I fancy some came a good deal closer to us ; but 
still none of them made any attempt at an attack, 
greatly to our relief. 

From the M'Pempeze we had a trader's road for 
about twenty miles ; but at the end of that stretch 
we lost all trace of the white man's rule, until, on 
the eighth day out, we suddenly came on an old 
road, almost overgrown, and obviously disused, 
with the drifts washed into great ruts, and native 
game traps set across the spoor. It was the old 
Pioneer's Road, up which Selous had led the Pioneer 
Column in 1890, once the main highway to Mashona- 
land, now abandoned, and forgotten by all save the 
survivors of that column. We came on the remains 
of some very long wagons which had been used for 
carrying iron telegraph poles, and here and there 
were the ruins of what had been huts ; but there 
was no recent spoor, no wagon spoor at all, really, 
whilst under the great Sugar Loaf Hill at the 
Lundi Drift we searched in vain for any trace of 
the graves of the forty-nine white men who are 
supposed to have died there, I think in 1893, when 
the river held the wagons up for six weeks. 

A queer incident happened when we were camped 
at the Sugar Loaf. Malcolm had shot some big 
buck, a sable antelope, I fancy, and we had made a 
little thorn scherm in the bush, where we were dry- 
ing some of the meat, and resting both our boys 
and our donkeys. We had been there a couple of 
days when the piccannin, who had been down for 
water, came hurrying back from the drift to say 
that four Dutchmen on horses were coming along 



66 THE DIARY OF 

the road. When we had left the mine the Boer 
War had been in the air, and at every kraal we had 
heard rumours of trouble across the border. It 
may have been this sense of uneasiness which made 
us cautious ; at anyrate, we stayed in the bush, 
sending one of our boys along, in the guise of a 
travelling Kaffir, to see who the strangers were, a 
precaution which probably saved our lives. 

The Dutchmen offsaddled at the drift, and, after 
sending our boy for water, made coffee. Then our 
boy squatted a few yards away, and waited for 
information. What they told him we never knew ; 
what he told us when he came back was that war 
had already broken out between the British and 
the Boers, and that these four men were on their 
way down to join the latter. The last part alone 
was true, though had they known that two English- 
men were there with six valuable donkeys, I fancy 
we should have got a short shrift. As a matter of 
fact, only one was a Boer, two being Cape Colonials, 
and the fourth a German doctor. War had not 
broken out, but they were already on the warpath, 
anxious to start hostilities by looting what they 
could. I met the Boer afterwards, and I found 
him, like most of his kind, very decent and very 
slow-witted. He told me the fate of the German 
doctor. It was tragic — and very suitable. He 
was found killing off the British wounded after one 
of the fights, skulking round, shooting in their faces 
with a revolver. Two Tommies got him with their 
bayonets. He scrabbled on the ground, begging 
for mercy, which he did not get. 

Many months later, after the Relief of Mafeking, 
I was one of two passengers on a south-bound 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 67 

train. We had an armoured truck attached, and 
an armoured train as escort ; consequently, we 
travelled slowly, with many long stops. When we 
reached Vryburg they decided that we had better 
stay the night there. Contrary to expectation, the 
little railway station was quite animated, the centre 
of interest being a sergeant in one of the Welsh 
regiments. That soldier was a well-satisfied man 
in a sombre sort of way. Had liquor been obtain- 
able, he could certainly have been solemnly drunk. 
It seemed that the colonial rebels, those high- 
minded patriots, had murdered his brother a few 
months before, apparently for the sake of his watch, 
and when a rebel had to be hanged, after having 
taken and broken the oath three times, the sergeant 
had begged the privilege of being allowed to carry 
out the execution. So far as I could make out, 
that rebel was one of the party of four which I saw 
through the bushes at the Lundi Drift. I never 
knew where his fellow-colonial went to ; certainly, 
he never reappeared in Mashonaland, so I trust 
that he, too, was sent to his own place. 

From the Lundi Drift, we struck down the river, 
following the northern bank. We were just getting 
into good cattle country, and we decided to buy 
some young bulls first, with the cash we had, eighty- 
four pounds in all, then, leaving our animals, includ- 
ing the donkeys, at a convenient kraal, make our 
way with carriers down to the tsetze-fly country, 
returning just before the rains began. 

The first kraal we reached after leaving the drift 
was a wonderfully picturesque place, a group of 
some thirty or forty huts in a little grassy basin, 
almost completely enclosed by huge granite kopjes. 



68 THE DIARY OF 

We got to the village about three o'clock in the 
afternoon, and found it absolutely deserted. There 
was not even a dog to be seen ; but a faint sound 
of drumming from over a neck in the hills explained 
the matter to our boys. 

** There is beer," they said, then Tom and another 
youngster started off to investigate. 

They were gone some time, an unreasonably 
long time considering the apparent distance, and 
when they returned, bearing a large pot of native 
beer, they were distinctly apologetic, and almost 
incoherent. It was the kraal of Jackalass, they 
said, and Jackalass was the most estimable Mashona 
they had ever met — our boys were M'Hlengwi and 
Matabele — he was very sorry that a great festival 
in the fields prevented him from coming to see his 
white guests at once ; but he was sending them a 
pot of beer, to be going on with, and would come 
back himself at sundown. 

He was as good as his word. The sun had 
hardly disappeared behind the kopjes when a 
great singing and jodelling announced that the 
people were coming home. They were the most 
happily drunken crowd imaginable. None of them 
was really sober, and yet all were on most friendly 
terms with each other. Even the cattle seemed to 
have caught the spirit of their owners, for they 
trotted in with the herd boys riding on their 
backs. 

Jackalass certainly was a good Mashona, or 
rather Makalanga — Mashona being really a kitchen- 
Kaffir word, though one now sanctioned by general 
usage. He was that very rare thing, a native 
gentleman, even though he wore but a loincloth 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 69 

and was prone to drink too much of his national 
drink. He started by sitting down in front of 
us and clapping his hands. Then he signed to 
one of his sons, who produced a fowl as a present ; 
a few minutes later he gave us some meal for our 
boys ; and so it went on for an hour, a dozen little 
things, one after another, sour milk, eggs, tomatoes, 
everything he could think of likely to please the 
white men, ending up with a small and vociferous 
goat. Of course, he got present for present, limbo, 
beads and matches ; but he was giving gladly, tak- 
ing a pleasure in it, a striking contrast to the 
general run of Mashona headmen, who expect 
double the value of their presents, and then try 
and get the latter back, in order to sell them to 
their visitor. 

In the morning, half the men of the kraal went 
out to show us where the game was. Malcolm 
shot two klipspringer, those queer little mountain 
antelope, and I got one ; consequently there was 
great rejoicing when we returned at midday, and 
in a very few minutes every pot was full of spicy 
scraps of entrails. 

Jackalass sold us the first bull we ever owned, 
a dull red animal which afterwards developed into 
one of the finest trek oxen in our spans. Poor 
Jackalass — we called him after his breeder — he 
died in the days of the. Great Disease, somewhere 
between Selukwe and Fort Victoria. Most of his 
mates, bought on that trip, finished their days 
at that same outspan, and their wagon was also 
abandoned there. Probably, the remains of it are 
there still ; though the bones of poor old Jackalass 
and his mates must long since have rotted away. 



70 THE DIARY OF 

Jackalass, the headman, would have liked us to 
stay a month, during which time, he assured us, 
we should shoot so much game that his people 
would forget the taste ot porridge, their staple 
diet ; but we declined the invitation, and went on 
to a village about fifteen miles away. 

There, too, we found them all drunk. In fact, 
they were drumming so vigorously, this time in 
the kraal itself, that they never heard us coming 
up the path. When they did see us, however, 
there was a wild rush for the shelter of the rocks 
on the part of the women and children, whilst the 
men seized their assegais and guns, and retreated 
to the edge of the clearing, looking rather ugly. 
We were the first white men who had ever been 
there, and they were afraid we were labour agents. 
However, we soon reassured them, and they turned 
out to be quite a decent lot, though they had none 
of the joviality of Jackalass' people. 

Their kraal was not a cheerful place. An hour 
or so after we got there, although it was still broad 
daylight, a couple of leopards began to growl in 
the kopje near by. Just before sunset one of our 
boys came in to say that a flock of guinea-fowl 
was down in some old lands beside the water hole, 
and I reached the spot in time to see a huge 
crocodile dive off one of the rocks into the pool. 
I was still watching the bubbles rising when som.e- 
thing stirred at my feet, and I looked down to see 
a twelve-feet-long python uncoiling himself. He 
finished the process with his head blown off, 
wagging a shapeless stump to and fro. 

Most people would have reckoned the spot too 
prolific in schelm, and have detested it accordingly. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 71 

Not so with my boys. They forgot the leopards 
and the crocodile, and ignored altogether the 
hyaena which turned up shortly afterwards. Had 
I not killed a python, an N'Hlatu, a great snake, 
and did not every sane person know that when 
you killed a snake you were going to have luck 
in hunting ? The greater the snake, the greater 
the luck ; and they spent half the night discussing 
what I should shoot on the morrow. They even 
went so far as to give the local witch doctor a 
snuff-box and the promise of a shilling to throw 
the bones, and so discover which side of the Lundi 
River would be lucky. He decided that I must 
cross, and so in the morning, a chilly winter 
morning, the guide took us down through the 
dew-laden grass on the river bank, through the 
bitterly cold stream itself, into the mopani scrub 
on the other side. Usually we took some food 
with us — cold guinea-fowl and bread ; but, on this 
occasion, so sure were our boys of the luck of 
the great snake that they carried only a small 
bag of monkey nuts. Malcolm went away to the 
right, after agreeing to meet me under a certain 
bald kopje ; and I saw no more of him for some 
hours. 

The first thing I struck was a duiker, who dived 
into the scrub and was lost. A few minutes later 
a dozen vague grey shadows, seen indistinctly 
against the thorn bush, materialised suddenly into 
so many waterbuck cows, then, before I could shoot, 
disappeared again. The boys laughed. The luck 
of the N'Hlatu would be something far better 
than mere waterbuck, tough and strongly scented. 
A mile farther on there was a sudden crashing 



72 THE DIARY OF 

amongst the bush, and an eland bull, the buck of 
all buck, was away in a cloud of dust, followed 
by a badly aimed bullet from my rifle. Then I 
saw the horns of a sable antelope just disappearing 
behind some mimosa bush, and after that again 
a troop of impala really out of range. 

I was beginning to get sore at my ill-luck, as 
well as hungry. We stopped on a big flat rock, 
lighted a fire, cooked our handful of monkey nuts ; 
and then I proceeded to give those niggers my 
candid idea of their great snakes and their rotten 
superstitions. They listened in silence, chewing 
their monkey nuts, then they took snuff, copiously, 
and after that they explained to me that we had 
yet to find the animal of the great snake. Doubt- 
less, there was an eland, or at least a roan antelope, 
waiting for my rifle. As for those we had seen so 
far, obviously the spirits of their ancestors did not 
agree for them to die yet. 

I did not answer the arguments, knowing Kaffirs 
fairly well ; but I started homewards, down the 
Lundi bank. I had gone perhaps a mile when a 
bush buck jumped up and I knocked him over at 
about a hundred yards. He scrambled to his feet 
again, making off, and we were looking for the 
blood spoor, when, suddenly, Tom, who was carry- 
ing a Metford carbine, gripped my arm. 

*' There, baas, there is the luck of the N'Hlatu," 
he whispered. 

I followed his pointing finger to see in the pool, 
about a hundred and sixty yards away, the head of 
a huge hippo, a ver}^ giant amongst giants, sticking 
clear out of the water. 

Rhodesia had game laws, and amongst these was, 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 73 

and may be still, one which declared that the man 
who shot hippo must pay some idiotic fine — about 
fifty pounds, or give an I.O.U. of that nominal 
value — for each beast he killed. Still, those game 
laws seemed of even less importance than ever at 
that moment. It was my first hippo. Had I been 
older I should have gone closer, and, as I crept up, 
I should have remembered that I had only soft- 
nosed bullets in my belt ; and then I should have 
left the animal alone. As it was, however, I fired 
from where I was, hit him in the exact place, behind 
the ear, and ran forward, reckoning I had got him. 
Just as I reached the edge of the pool there was 
a sudden bellow, and the great beast came out of 
the water with ponderous deliberation, as though 
utterly dazed, as in fact he was ; and began to push 
his way through the reed bed. 

An instant later, Tom's Metford carbine spat out 
its vicious note, just beside my ear, a wholly futile 
body shot. Then he and I were in the water, 
forcing our way through the water, waist deep, 
breast deep, whilst the big bull was moving so 
slowly, lurching a little as he went, that we got 
to the other side of the pool almost at his heels. 
Tom fired again and yet again, uselessly as before, 
into the hindquarters. I was waiting for a head 
shot — I had that amount of sense left. Suddenly, 
the hippo turned at right angles, back to the pool ; 
and I got him again, in the head. He gave a 
bellow, lurched forward into the water, and, for a 
few seconds, was lost to view. I thought he was 
done, and when he began to dive down into the 
sand at the deep end of the pool and root that up 
I took it to be his death flurry. 



74 THE DIARY OF 

I was squatting on the bank — I never kneel to 
shoot ; down on your haunches, Kaffir fashion, is 
a far better position— waiting for him. At last he 
came within ten feet, out of the water suddenly, 
roaring at me. I took him fair and square In the 
forehead — I saw where the bullet had struck before 
he dived again — and being, as I have said, young 
and foolish, I imagined my soft-nosed bullet had 
finished him. He got into a real flurry then. If 
there were any fish in that pool, they must have 
reckoned that the Day of Judgment had come. 
The bull spouted blood till the w^ater was red half 
across its width, and then he became very quiet. 

Tom rubbed his stomach gently, as though in 
anticipation of a huge gorge. '' He is dead," he 
said. 

I will say this much for Tom, that, though he 
made a big mistake, he took the same risk as 
myself; in fact, he led the way into the pool when 
he suggested that we had better get back to the 
north bank. We must have been half-way across 
when Tom gave a cry. That hippo was still alive, 
very much alive, and he was coming for us. We 
were waist deep at the moment, and only those 
who have tried to hurry through water with their 
clothes on can understand what it means. We had 
thirty feet to go to safety, and the bull was within 
twenty feet. One snap of his jaws would have 
sufficed to cut a man in half. I had the butt end 
of my rifle ready to drive into his mouth if he gave 
me the chance; but I knew that, according to all 
ordinary rules, my game was played out ; and then, 
suddenly, when he was within ten feet of me, he 
seemed to lose his sense of direction, turned round 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 75 

in a semicircle, and blundered into a reed bed. 
He was still absolutely dazed from my last shot. 

Yet, in a way, he got his own back. Fate evened 
up things ; for, as I clambered out of the pool, I 
slipped on a big rock, and twisted my knee, injuring 
the muscles. For a fortnight I was dead lame ; 
trekking became a perfect misery ; and the knee has 
never got really strong since. Now, after ten years, 
I dare not get on a restive horse ; whilst if I stand 
about for an hour or so — say, waiting for a south- 
coast train — that knee begins to remind me of my 
first hippo, six thousand miles away, in the Lundi 
River. 

The bull is there yet, for all I know. In the 
morning I was too stiff to move, but Malcolm 
went, with big knives and ropes and axes and a 
camera, to do the cutting up ; but the quarry had 
vanished. There was not a trace of him, and no 
nigger down that river found a dead hippo ; so I 
imagine my soft-nosed bullets merely stunned him ; 
and, after a bad headache, he went on his way 
rejoicing. When I asked the niggers about the 
luck of the great snake, I was told that it was the 
fault of my cartridges, not of their witchcraft ; and 
I think they were right ; still, the witch doctor 
might have warned me to take some solid bullets. 
He was a fool. 



CHAPTER VIII 

Cattle-buying from natives is a game requiring 
infinite patience. Generally speaking, it takes 
about three hours to settle on the price of a beast, 
though I have begun negotiations at dawn and not 
concluded the deal until after sunset. The correct 
procedure is for the owner of the animal to bring 
out some worthless, undersized calf for a start ; this, 
he declares, is so strong that, by itself, it would pull 
a wagon. Then he has a knobstick thrown at 
him ; and his beast is driven off by your own boys. 
A few minutes later he returns to offer you a little 
larger bull ; this time he is refused with rather less 
insult ; and, after that, he begins to talk about the 
animal which you wanted, and he intended to sell 
all along. 

He asks twice as much as he expects to get ; you 
offer two-thirds of what you intend to give, counting 
the gold on to a native hoe lying on the ground in 
front of you. 

After a while the owner shakes his head mourn- 
fully, draws his rag of a blanket a little closer round 
his shrivelled body, and remarks to the other old 
skeletons squatting beside him : " The white man 
is very dear." 

His companions take snuff copiously, and sneeze, 
then they too shake their mud-plastered heads. 

" The white man is dear indeed," they quaver. 

The owner has been asking ten pounds before, 

76 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 77 

now he stares upward at a soaring eagle, as if seek- 
ing inspiration, and mutters : " The price is eight 
pounds." 

You reply by adding another half-sovereign to 
the three pounds already lying on the hoe. 

The old men exchange glances, and one examines 
the latest coin, without however touching it. Pos- 
sibly he finds it is a " queen," a coin with the Royal 
Arms, whereas the owner prefers *' Horses," those 
with the George and Dragon on them. You change 
the coin, cursing the ingrained idiocy of the Mashona, 
and then pretend to go to sleep, waking up only 
when the seller reduces his price, or you think that 
the moment has come to increase yours. Both you 
and the other side knew at the start what the price 
would be — five pounds in this case — but the decencies 
of debate must be observed, and, after all, a deal in 
cattle is a most serious matter, one to be undertaken 
only after serious consideration and a throwing 
of bones by the witch doctor. It is an incident 
of the day to you ; it is probably the event of the 
year to the native. Traders would do well to re- 
member this ; it would save them much irritation 
and the expenditure of many unnecessary swear 
words. 

We were beginners at cattle-buying then ; but we 
bought extraordinarily cheaply, more cheaply in fact 
than later on, when it became our principal business. 
Sixteen cattle which ultimately formed a wagon 
span, and were worth fully three hundred pounds 
three years later, cost us exactly sixty-four pounds 
in gold. We were out for pleasure, and we did not 
grudge the time we spent on the buying, nor the 
expense of our boys meanwhile. It was all new 



78 THE DIARY OF 

experience ; and it was very pleasant wandering 
about more or less aimlessly through that marvel- 
lously picturesque granite country, where there is a 
village on almost every kopje, and guinea-fowl in- 
numerable in every native field ; where a handful of 
beads will buy you more milk and eggs and tomatoes 
than you can use ; where there is a stream of clear, 
cold water in every dip, and when, at least at that 
season of the year, you have not the slightest fear 
of bad weather. 

There is not much big game amongst the kopjes, 
though the local natives, being inveterate optimists, 
were always ready to take a cheerful view of the 
prospects, and to lead us away on long and futile 
hunts. I remember one big stretch of scrub between 
two ranges of kopjes where, we were told, there was 
no long grass because the antelope had eaten it all 
down. We decided to go there ; tramped ten miles 
over very bad ground ; camped for the night in an 
old watercourse with a leopard and some hysenas 
for company ; and in the morning saw no game at 
all and scarcely any trace of fresh spoor ; though, 
as we were coming back, we did light on the bones 
and skin of a freshly killed waterbuck bull. The 
lions had dragged the carcass, weighing alive some 
six hundred pounds, nearly half-a-mile, and were 
just finishing the last of it when we disturbed them. 
Their foul saliva was still warm and sticky on the 
bones ; but our Mashona did not mind that. Within 
five minutes they had lighted a fire, and were grilling 
those bones, preparatory to gnawing away the scraps 
of gristle the lions had left ; and yet they were not 
unusually hungry. 

That experience sickened us of trying to hunt in 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 79 

the granite country. Our main camp was then at 
a village called Chivamba's, pretty well the most 
easterly of the Mashona kraals ; a very few miles 
beyond it the bush country, inhabited sparsely by 
M'Hlengwi, begins. The bush certainly sheltered 
more than enough lions, and was reputed to have 
patches of tsetze fly as well, so we left our donkeys 
and cattle at Chivamba's, and went on with about 
half-a-dozen carriers. 

You must go into that bush country of Eastern 
Mashonaland to realise its dreariness. Words are 
inadequate to paint it. The ground underfoot is 
red sand ; the leaves on the mopani scrub are a 
decidedly bright green when not a warm brown ; the 
tree trunks are almost black ; the grass is yellow. 
Analyse the constituents of the scene, and each, in 
itself, is cheerful enough, and yet the impression of 
the whole, the impression which you carry away 
with you, is of a grey desolation, drab, silent and 
unspeakably wearisome. Nine men out of ten would 
describe that bush as grey, though that colour is to 
be found only in the skins of the waterbuck, who, 
however, blend so perfectly with their surroundings 
as generally to be invisible until they start to 
run. 

The M'Hlengwi villages suit the bush. As a 
rule they consist of about ten huts, miserably dilapi- 
dated, with ragged eaves and smoke-grimed roofs, 
walls often leaning over at a dangerous angle, and 
no trace of windows. The intervening spaces are 
invariably littered with rubbish of all sorts, forming 
an ideal breeding place for flies. The fowls, which 
spend their whole lives in routing amongst that 
same rubbish, on a futile quest for stray pieces of 



80 THE DIARY OF 

offal, are small and desperately thin ; the dogs are, 
if possible, even more mangy and aggressive than 
those of the Mashona ; the sheep and goats alone 
are good, by reason of the splendid salt grass to be 
found amongst the mopani scrub. The people, 
themselves, are in keeping with their surroundings, 
utterly dull and apathetic, having no real interest in 
life, save witchcraft and its attendant abominations. 
And yet they are not without ingenuity. Most of 
the gunpowder makers of South Central Africa are 
M'Hlengwi. The secret of the manufacture, sup- 
posed to have been learned in the first case from the 
Jesuits early in the seventeenth century, is handed 
down from father to son, and guarded equally from 
both white men and other natives. I never yet 
heard any tenable theory propounded regarding the 
process used, or rather regarding the process and 
the materials employed. 

Carbon is, of course, an obvious matter ; salt- 
petre is obtained by burning the dung of the rock 
rabbit, soaking the ashes in water, filtering, and 
then evaporating the liquid ; but no white man 
living knows whence the sulphur comes, or whether 
something else is not used in place of it. Sulphur 
occurs nowhere in that country in a native state. 
It is almost inconceivable that the powder makers 
should extract the very small amount of sulphur 
obtainable from iron pyrites, and yet, beyond that, 
I know of no possible source of supply. Probably 
the matter will always remain a mystery. The 
native knows how to keep a secret, as well as he 
knows how to learn the secrets of the white man. 

They told us there was plenty of game to be 
found, if you went down from Chivamba's kraal to 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 81 

M'Bambo's, and thence to the Tcheredzi River. 
The game was plentiful as goats, they said ; and 
you could shoot lions until you were tired. The 
first part of the statement was strictly true, provided 
you did not expect very many goats ; whilst as for 
the latter part, the lions certainly made you tired, 
by eternally prowling round your camp, making 
disturbing noises, and keeping you on the jump. 
The lions down there were like London County 
Council tramcars. There was not only plenty, but 
a surplus, and they were a perfect pest to everyone 
within earshot. I have often wondered that none 
of us, the three brothers who were with me at 
various times or myself, ever shot a lion. Person- 
ally, I reckon I had them round my camp on at 
least five hundred nights ; and I have wasted very 
many days in chasing them. I have bought skins 
from natives, and sold them, at a huge profit, to 
sportsmen from home, men with chairs and tables 
and all the idiotic paraphernalia dear to the heart 
of those guileless amateurs, British army officers 
and British big-game hunters, and I have thrown 
in, with the skin, an outline of the lies to be told 
when that skin was solemnly hung up on the walls of 
the ancestral home. But I never had a fair shot at 
a lion, nothing better than a haphazard blaze with 
a shot-gun in the darkness ; and I am quite certain 
I never hit one ; so I have no lion stories to tell. 
The lion is an unmitigated beast, that is all I 
know about him, a slinking pest, one of whose 
regal attributes is that he will sit for hours on a 
flat rock, waiting for a chance to kill field rats with 
his kingly paw. Still, like the ridiculous, assegai- 
waving, song-singing Zulu of the South African 



82 THE DIARY OF 

novelists — whose local colour is usually as faulty as 
their grammar, thereby depriving them of all hope 
of salvation — the lion of the story-books has become 
a recognised institution. Expert evidence would 
be powerless to dethrone him. Why, in that case, 
journalists and those who write Sunday-school 
prize-books would lose one of their too few stock 
phrases ! 

We went down into that bush veld, but our luck 
was clean out as regarded game. Malcolm's im- 
pressions, written at the time, furnish a fine warning 
to the hunter who trusts to native reports. More- 
over, it must be remembered that, as big-game 
shots, we were not mere beginners. Malcolm 
wrote : 

" The game is undoubtedly here. Waterbuck 
spoor everywhere, sable antelope, roan antelope, 
koodoo, zebra, Lichtenstein Hartebeeste, impala, 
a veritable Zoo, in fact. We have never seen so 
much spoor at one time before. Just as we were 
coming to our first camping place on the Tcheredzi 
River we spotted a troop of waterbuck in some 
dense bush. Stanley got a snap at the nearest 
one — a cow it turned out to be — and brought her 
down ; but she was up and away before we could 
reach her. Then, try as we would, we could not 
keep the spoor. A few dozen drops of blood en- 
couraged us ; but the ground was too bad, rough 
and stony, and at last we had, very reluctantly, to 
give it up as a bad job. Still, we had this consola- 
tion — there were plenty more about, waiting for us, 
although it always seems rotten to wound a buck 
for the hateful lions and hyaenas to finish. . . . We 
had started into the bush veld with the certainty 




DONKKYS FOR SHOOTING TRIP. 




LION CUBS. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 83 

of doing some wonderful shooting — we had begun 
with a wounded, and lost, waterbuck cow. The 
next morning we drew blank again — spoor and no 
game ; and matters began to look ugly. We had 
left most of our stores at Chivamba's kraal, with 
the cattle and donkeys, and carried the irreducible 
minimum with us. Now the position was this — no 
meat in camp, no game to be seen, and two hungry 
white men, and half-a-score of even more hungry 
boys ; so the obvious thing was to set some of those 
same boys to work trying to catch fish in a big pool 
near by. 

" That evening I got a long shot at a sable bull, 
which I missed. It was a difficult shot, head and 
neck only at two hundred and fifty yards, so I did 
not blame myself for missing. Coming back to 
camp, I met a smell wandering along on the even- 
ing breeze, a smell which nearly knocked me flat. 
One of the boys had found the waterbuck Stanley 
had wounded, and they were just revelling in it. 
That cow was about the deadest buck I have 
ever come across ; but to the niggers it seemed 
exactly right. They wanted no Lea & Perrins. 
It appeared that Stanley had hit her half-an-inch 
behind the heart, a clean shot, and she must have 
run about half-a-mile, and dropped dead, close to 
our camp. 

" Things were more cheerful that night. We 
had no more anxiety concerning the boys' food ; 
our sense of smell reassured us on that point. As 
for ourselves, damper and fried fish still constituted 
the entire menu ; but the fish was by no means 
bad. We turned in with a certain degree of mis- 
giving — we could hear hippo roaring in a pool near 



84 THE DIARY OF 

by, and there was always the chance of one of these 
idiotic survivals of prehistoric times wandering 
through our camp, and, incidentally, placing a foot 
like a steam roller on the chest of one of us — but we 
soon forgot the hippo, and even the lion growling on 
the opposite bank, and thought only of Stanley's 
waterbuck. The latter may have brought the lion. 
Personally, I think it should have driven it away. 
We got, as we thought, to windward ; but, even 
then, an occasional change in the breeze would 
bring the stench of that cow down to us, and we 
would hastily cover our heads with the blankets. 
A mouthful of that smell was a meal in itself. 

" The following morning, I came on a big water- 
buck bull with one horn broken off short. He was in 
that dense bush beloved of his kind, and he gave 
me but one chance of a shot. A minute or two 
later, about a dozen cows broke away quite close to 
me ; again no chance of a shot. Then, in coming 
out of the scrub into the open, I saw four more cows 
trotting along three hundred yards away ; but, when 
they stood, they gave a wonderful object lesson in 
protective colouring. They were right out in the 
open, and, although I watched them carefully, one 
of the four appeared as a faint grey shadow, whilst 
the other three were totally invisible. We wanted 
meat so badly that I chanced the shot, sighting at 
a mere blurr ; then when I had pulled the trigger, 
the unmistakable thud of a bullet striking flesh 
told me I had hit, much to my satisfaction, and 
more to my surprise. I could not tell if one 
was down, as seven or eight immediately broke 
away, whereas I had only seen four at first. Then 
came a long search for blood spoor, but not a drop 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 85 

of blood could I find, and at last I decided that I 
must have missed, after all, that the thud had been 
a glance off a twig. 

" I got back to that doleful camp on the Tcheredzi 
River, to find that Stanley, too, had had no luck. 
So only fish again that day, fish that was beginning 
to taste rather flat and muddy. Dawn next morning 
saw us on the move again, through the dense mopani 
scrub along the river bank where the hippo had 
beaten down convenient paths, through mimosa or 
wait-a-bit thorns where those same hippo had 
omitted to go, along the edges of vleis thick with 
queer, foot-catching yellow grass ; but never a sign 
of game did we see, only fresh spoor everywhere, 
newly made footprints and smoking dung, as usual. 
In every shady spot, it was obvious that game had 
sheltered there, either from the noonday sun or the 
night cold, the long grass, pressed down, showing 
where some great beast had been lying down, or, 
trampled or tangled, where another had stood as 
sentry over his sleeping mates. It was all very 
interesting, but very unsatisfactory, because we had 
the meat hunger on us. 

" Then, suddenly, Tom, my big M'Hlengwi boy, 
seemed to go suddenly rigid, ' pointing ' just like a 
well-trained dog. Following the direction of his 
eyes, I made out ten or twelve shadowy forms 
moving across our front, about a hundred and fifty 
yards away. Five minutes' stalking, sometimes 
crawling, sometimes running a few steps, sometimes 
dropping flat in the grass when one turned back to 
look round, got us into a good position behind an 
ant-hill on the edge of a vlei, which the buck were 
just starting to cross. Waterbuck again ! I had 



86 THE DIARY OF 

suspected that at once, but I looked in vain for a 
bull amongst them. They were now only a hundred 
yards off, all in a bunch, evidently going to lay up 
for the day. It is bad form to shoot a cow, I know, 
but hunger makes all the difference ; and we were 
really hungry, meat-hungry ; so I fired. The result 
was instant confusion, and a general stampede. 
Another miss, almost too bad for words this time. 
The boys' faces showed their feelings, only too 
plainly. 

" We lunched, or breakfasted, call it whichever 
you like, on fish and damper, duller and more muddy 
fish than ever, and went out again in the afternoon. 
Stanley was now grim and silent, smoking much 
bad tobacco, as though it were the only thing left 
in life. He went one way, I went the other. Just 
at sundown, when I was trying to persuade myself 
that there was merit in eating fish and damper, I 
saw a big sable bull, a real giant, standing at the far 
end of a narrow vlei. A long shot laid him low, 
but, before I had got twenty yards in his direction 
he was on his feet, and a second shot as he lurched 
off into the bush missed him clean. Then a second 
bull appeared in the open, standing long enough for 
me to get a bullet through his shoulder, which nearly 
brought him down, though not quite. Then began 
one of the wildest scrambles in which I have ever 
taken part. When the second bull staggered off 
into the mimosa bush, six or seven cows dashed 
across the vlei after him ; and they were all standing 
there, watching anxiously, when we ran up. They 
were away too quickly for me to get in another 
shot ; and then we chased them once more into the 
scrub. Time after time, I came up with one or 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 87 

other of the wounded bulls at a few yards' range ; 
but, somehow, I never got in a shot. Each time, 
one jump seemed enough to put the animals out of 
sight behind another bush ; then, at last, the young 
bull, the second one I had hit, fell ; and, seeing he 
was safe, I shouted to the boy, who was earring my 
spare rifle, to go and finish the big bull. 

"A shot through the neck ended the career of 
my buck. He would have charged, had his strength 
held out. Like all sable, he had the spirit to do it ; 
but a broken shoulder and lungs full of blood will 
stop anything. He fell, gave one kick, and it was 
all over. A moment later, I heard a shot near by, 
followed by the thud of a bullet striking flesh ; but 
the boy seemed an interminable time getting back 
to tell me of his success in finishing the big fellow I 
had wounded. When, at last, he did come, his face 
was very long. He had come on the bull, dying, 
mth a cow beside him, apparently trying to get him 
along, and thinking to get them both, and so ensure 
an absolute gorge, that miserable nigger had fired 
at the cow and lost both. Still, we had my young- 
bull. 

"Stanley was sitting by the fire, cooking some- 
thing on the hot ashes, when I reached camp 
with my sable meat. 

" * Plenty of meat now, Stanley. Got a young 
sable bull,' I said. ' But what have you shot ? ' 
I added, noticing a huge pile of freshly cut up 
meat on the rocks near by. 

"Stanley shook his head, and slowly took his 
pipe out of his mouth — the young beggar might 
not eat much, but he never seemed to stop smok- 
ing. 



88 A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 

" ' Never fired a shot,' he growled. * Those are 
the two waterbuck you shot. You didn't wound 
them ; you killed them stone dead. You hit both 
in the same place, just at the base of the neck ; 
and they must have died instantly. . . . Soon 
after I started this afternoon, I found a crowd of 
travelling Mashona pigging into a waterbuck. 
They said they had shot it themselves ; but the 
boy spotted the remains of a Metford bullet in a 
piece of meat, and remarked that the shot was 
very close to where you had fired this morning. 
Then the Mashona, wise for once, owned to having 
found it dead. Whilst they were cutting up the 
carcass, our boy showed one of the Mashona where 
you had been when you had fired. The Mashona, 
keen after cartridge cases like all his kind, started 
off to search for the one you had ejected, and im- 
mediately stumbled over the body of the young 
bull you had shot the previous day.' 

"With two consecutive shots, I had killed two 
waterbuck, and not only had I seen neither fall, 
but my boys, no fools at hunting, had also been 
convinced I had missed. It was a lesson to me." 

Malcolm's diary ends abruptly, as he went down 
with fever soon after ; but the extracts I have given 
will serve to show what sort of luck attended us in 
that bush veld, at least so far as our own shooting 
was concerned. 



CHAPTER IX 

We did not get much game on the Tcheredzi River, 
and we shot no hippo. We saw the spoor of the 
latter often, and once I had a glimpse of one on 
land, over a mile from his pool, but they never 
gave us a chance. The local savages explained 
matters by declaring that they, themselves, had 
rendered the huge brutes shy and wary by throw- 
ing assegais at them, or blazing futile bullets at 
them from Tower muskets, on every possible occas- 
ion. I daresay that, for once, they were telling 
the truth. One would expect idiotic tricks of that 
sort from Mashona and M'Hlengwi. They had 
no weapons wherewith to kill a hippo from the 
shore and, unlike the MaTchanga of the coast, 
they had not the pluck to attack their quarry from 
a canoe, with a harpoon and an m'diggadigga, a 
great weighted lance ; but they were quite ready 
to waste ammunition and assegais whenever the 
hippo showed himself 

Still, though we got no hippo ourselves, we did 
not come away without plenty of sjamboks. On 
the Geelong mine, nearly two hundred and fifty 
miles away, Tom, our head boy, had told us that 
he knew where about a hundred raw sjamboks 
were stored in a tree. A white man had shot three 
hippo there four years previously ; he had carried 
away the sjamboks from two, but had been forced 
to leave the remainder for lack of carriers. Accord- 
ing to Tom, the hunter himself had ultimately been 
89 



90 THE DIARY OF 

murdered by the Mashona ; at anyrate, he had 
never returned. 

The sjamboks were stowed away In grass bundles 
jammed between the forked branches of a huge tree 
on the banks of the Tcheredzi River, miles from 
any kraal. There was no landmark there, yet Tom 
led us straight across the veld to the very spot : he 
did not hunt round and waste time : he had been 
there once before, and, being a native, he knew his 
way back by virtue of that curious instinct every 
native possesses. 

We hauled the sjamboks down, reckoning our- 
selves the natural heirs of that long-vanished white 
man. The weevils had got amongst them, badly, 
and we threw away at least half of them ; but the 
remainder we took along, to form Joshua's pack 
when we got back to Chivamba's kraal. Ulti- 
mately, we sold the half we kept for about seven- 
teen pounds, a very fair price. The ivory, which 
was also there, I brought home in the end, and 
gave away as a wedding present. There was one 
gigantic pair of tusks, and they now serve to 
support a dinner gong. 

It is strange how one never manages to keep 
any trophies or curios for oneself. The only thing 
I have got left now is a hippo sjambok, cut from 
a big bull m}^ young brother Amyas shot ; and 
yet few men in Mashonaland had more curios and 
horns through their hands. My first lot of horns, 
which included a pair of klipspringer horns half-an- 
inch longer than the recognised record — that ram 
was the chief of all the klipspringer according to 
the Matabele, who were inclined to be ugly when 
I shot him — that lot of horns was left in Bulawayo 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 91 

in charge of a man who died before I got back 
to the town ; consequently, they were lost, or sold 
by his executors, and doubtless now some Afrik- 
ander Civil Servant has my klipspringer's head 
on his walls, and tells his friends : " Man, you 
should have seen me shoot him, at five hundred" 
— or even five thousand, if the whisky is strong — 
" yards. Man, I tell you an Englishman could 
never have made a shot like that." 

After that I began to sell all my horns, those I 
shot as well as those I traded from the natives. A 
Jew boy in Bulawayo — the English Jews there 
were, generally speaking, as decent as the German 
Jews were rotten — used to give me seven shillings 
a pair all round, good and bad, a price which paid 
extremely well, as I could always buy from the 
natives for a shilling a pair. My curios went much 
the same way ; there was always a ready demand 
for them ; and the result was that, when I left Africa 
finally, I had nothing whatever left, save that one 
sjambok which I used to carry on my wrist. 

The trip to the Tcheredzi River confirmed one 
impression I had gained some time previously — 
that the modern small-bore rifle is a delusion and a 
snare when used for big-game shooting. I daresay 
it does well enough for the sportsman from home, 
who arrives with ample supplies and a long string 
of carriers, who has taken out a permit to shoot so 
many head of game, and is quite unmoved by the 
total he may wound and lose, provided that, ulti- 
mately, he gets the number for which he has paid. 
This type of amateur loves the Metford or Mann- 
licher rifle ; it is light to carry, and so does not 
fatigue him unduly ; it has no recoil, and so does 



92 THE DIARY OF 

not bruise his white shoulder, causing ugly and 
unprecedented black marks. It is nothing to him 
that, owing largely to the introduction of the small- 
bore, and the consequent increase in the number of 
wounded buck left for the hyaenas, those who are 
building up the new countries, to whom the preserva- 
tion of the game, their main source of meat supply, 
is of vital importance, that these men are steadily 
finding their work becoming more and more difficult 
thanks to the doings of himself and his fellows. He 
has never had to go hungry on the veld. 

Personally, I would forbid shooting parties of any 
sort, unless they were composed of men who had a 
definite interest in the future of the country. The 
strangers, with their absurd ''colonial outfits," their 
tables and chairs and bedsteads, their double-fly 
tents, their baths, and all the other absurd gear 
they have carried along, are not welcome guests, 
even when British-born ; whilst the Americans and 
other aliens who come out to slaughter game merely 
for the sake of what they can make out of magazine 
articles concerning their own exploits are indeed 
anathema to all decent people. I do not see why 
the convenience of these so-called sportsmen should 
be considered ; and it is from them that the main 
outcry against the abolition of the small-bore rifle 
would come. The majority of real pioneers now 
use it because its ammunition is practically the only 
sort readily obtainable ; but they would welcome its 
disappearance from the country as the most effective 
measure of game preservation ever introduced into 
Africa. The small-bore means five or six buck 
destroyed for every one buck brought into camp ; 
whereas with a rifle of decent bore, a 400-bore 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 93 

or 450-bore cordite Express, practically every 
animal hit is knocked over by the mere shock. 
Moreover, the blood spoor from a Metford may, 
and usually does, consist of merely a few drops, 
which quickly cease altogether as the tiny hole 
closes ; the blood spoor from a cordite Express is 
obvious enough for even a story-book detective to 
follow. 

I have had some most excellent shooting with 
a small-bore. My first rifle, a Martini-Enfield by 
Rigby's, was the most perfect weapon I have ever 
handled, so far as balance and accuracy were con- 
cerned, so perfect that I despair of ever owning its 
equal. Only, as I have said, the bullet was too 
small, at least for a man who is hungry, and hates 
wounding game. The next rifle I tried — I tried it 
but once — was a brute of a thing Malcolm bought 
for some outrageous price, using black powder and 
a bullet like a piece of lead drainpipe. It was by a 
famous Birmingham maker, but it threw the shots 
anywhere, and knocked you backwards about ten 
feet whenever it deigned not to miss fire. Amyas 
scornfully nicknamed it " the giant-killer." It never 
killed a buck. It cost some thirty pounds with its 
vast stock of cartridges, and as soon as Malcolm 
had gone away to the Boer War I sold it to a 
colonial for six pounds ten, thereby confirming at 
least one Afrikander in his detestation of English- 
men. 

My next rifle was a 400-bore cordite Express by 
Cogswell & Harrison. It was, I think, without ex- 
ception, the most deadly firearm I have ever owned, 
absolutely accurate in its shooting ; everything I hit 
with it I got, from hippo downwards. You could 



94 THE DIARY OF 

make no mistake with that rifle. Other men used 
to say it kicked badly. Personally, I never found it 
do so ; but then, of course, it must be remembered 
that a great many fellows brace themselves up to 
meet the recoil, holding their muscles stiff and rigid, 
fairly asking for the shock ; instead of keeping 
loose and cool. A pop-gun would kick these 
people ; and their opinions and criticisms are 
absolutely valueless. If I ever get back on to the 
game veld, or if I ever get into another native war, 
I shall go with perfect confidence if I have one of 
those Cogswell & Harrison 400-bores. I know 
they will kill, not merely wound. I honestly 
believe that an army of twenty thousand picked 
men armed with rifles of that type could absolutely 
walk through a quarter of a million ordinary soldiers 
who had but the futile little Metfords, or Krags, or 
Mannlichers. If you are going out to kill anything, 
game or men, surely the sane thing is to take a 
weapon which will accomplish your end. 

All this is very heterodox, and ought, I suppose, 
to get me into serious trouble, especially with the 
makers of small-bore rifles ; but still I am convinced 
that my own ideas are correct — which is, after all, 
the correct mental attitude for a reformer. As 
regards camp equipment for an expedition on the 
veld, I think every practical man will agree with me 
that more parties come to grief through excess of 
gear than from any other cause, and that nothing 
has led to more bitterness against the white man 
than the huge trains of carriers taken inland by the 
soi-disant explorers and hunters who have swarmed 
out to Africa in recent years, men burning to find 
adventure and excitement in a land where their 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 95 

unadvertised predecessors have already reduced the 
risks of travel to a minimum. 

No sensible man wants to cart tables and chairs 
and bedsteads out into the veld with him. I know 
the British army officers considered them essential 
in the Boer War, but still that is no argument ; I 
know the war correspondent must have at least a 
vast filter and a bath, and two or three camels or a 
bullock wagon for the remainder of his kit ; and yet 
I remain unconvinced ; for, after all, these folk, the 
embryo generals as well as the gatherers of news, 
were amateurs at Ihe game, and I never met but one 
or two yet who had really begun to understand its 
rules. Two good blankets, a waterproof sheet, a 
patrol tent weighing complete nineteen pounds, 
two spare pairs of shoes, two spare shirts and two 
spare pairs of trousers, these with a kettle, a couple 
of saucepans and a bake-pot, are all the gear a man 
needs for a thousand-mile trek. Leggings and 
puttees I abhor. They cramp the muscles of your 
legs abominably. If the thorns are bad, just tie 
the bottoms of your trousers round your ankles. 
Bandoleers I dislike also. They make your 
shoulder sore and tired. Far better have half-a- 
dozen cartridges in your pocket, and let a nigger 
carry the rest. Anyway, the six will probably 
suffice. You will kill, or have been killed, before 
you have got through them. Revolvers are, of course, 
schoolboys' toys. They are unreliable at any 
distance, whilst if you want to kill anyone or any- 
thing at short range take a shot-gun for the job. 
Then you will make quite sure. I know that. 

I wonder how many of our pseudo-explorers 
realise the immense hardship which the feeding of 



96 THE DIARY OF 

their hug-e trains of carriers entails on the villatres 
in which they camp. The big native town chiefly 
exists in books. There are, of course, a good 
many vast, garbage-strewn settlements of the type 
of Palapye, but there are usually five hundred miles 
between them. The average native village does 
not exceed twenty huts, say twelve families ; and 
when, as happens every day, one of these is called 
upon without the slightest warning to provide a 
meal for a hundred or so hungry carriers, matters 
become serious. Sometimes, but not always, the 
white men are willing to pay what they consider 
an adequate sum for the food supplied ; but, as a 
rule, money cannot compensate the native, because 
he cannot buy food with it. As a rule, there is very 
little surplus food in a village, the stock cannot be 
replenished until the new harvest is gathered and 
threshed, and every pound of meal commandeered 
by the strangers means that the local people will be 
short of that amount. They do not want to sell ; 
in most cases they cannot afford to sell, and to force 
them to do so is to commit a gross injustice. Of 
course, there are districts, like those round Fort 
Victoria, where the natives regularly grow grain 
for sale ; but the mere fact of their doing so proves 
the existence of sufificient civilisation to keep the 
explorer and the sportsman away. 

What is needed is a system of international 
control of expeditions into the interior. Perhaps 
it would be going too far to send experienced white 
guides as dry nurses for the explorers ; but there 
certainly should be a limit to the number of carriers 
and to the weight of stuff to be carried. Ten years 
ago these amateurs of the veld were ludicrous ; 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 97 

now, however, they are becoming an absolute 
nuisance both to the Governments and to the 
natives. 

Malcolm got the fever down on the Tcheredzi 
River. Possibly the climate was to blame, possibly 
the general gloominess, possibly the waterbuck 
meat, toughest of all flesh, possibly a combination 
of all these. At anyrate, whatever the cause, he 
became what the country used to call "putrid with 
fever," ill in a negative sort of way, miserable, 
depressed and off his feed. Hitherto, he, alone of 
all men on the Geelong, had escaped malaria ; now 
the comparatively little he got affected him greatly. 
So we went back to Chivamba's where the donkeys 
and cattle were, but the change did him little or no 
good. He was a difficult patient. If I wanted him 
to take Livingstone Rousers, he demanded Dover's 
Powders ; if I prescribed milk diet, he insisted on 
chewing waterbuck biltong ; when I declared he 
ought to ride Joshua, he hurried on ahead on foot. 
He got so low at last that we decided to go straight 
back to the nearest white man's camp we knew, a 
trading station about a hundred and ninety miles 
away. It was a thoroughly miserable journey for 
us both, though I suspect he had the worst of it, 
as he was feeling things badly, resenting his ill- 
luck. 

We took sixteen days reaching the trader's camp, 
where we stayed about a week, until Malcolm was 
stronger again ; then we made our way on to the 
Geelong. To say the mine was surprised to see us 
is to express things inadequately. The men there 
reckoned we had been dead some weeks then. It 
appeared that a certain Native Commissioner had 



98 THE DIARY OF 

managed to get his district into a dangerous state 
of disaffection, and it was touch and go whether his 
people, who were Mashona, rose or no. So serious 
did matters become, that many white men were 
under the impression that the natives had actually 
risen. The Dutch settlement at Enkeldoorn went 
into laager at once, and stayed in that state, drink- 
ing and breaking several of the Ten Command- 
ments, until, in the interests of morality and 
common decency, the Government sent a force of 
police to drive the Boers back to their farms. I 
believe Enkeldoorn would go into laager if it heard 
that a Basutu had thrown a stone at a white man's 
dog on the banks of the Zambesi. Anyhow, it 
was alarmed this time, and so were several other 
settlements ; consequently, any foolish story found 
credence ; and when a boy came into Geelong and 
announced that the Mashona had killed both Malcolm 
and myself, the camp believed him, and, as I heard 
later, the Afrikanders rejoiced. And yet we, our- 
selves, down amongst those very same Mashona, 
had never heard a whisper of the trouble. The 
only danger we had been in had been from the 
German and the colonials at the Lundi Drift, men 
of our own colour. 

I had left the mine an absolute wreck, and Malcolm 
had left it in perfect condition. Matters were exactly 
reversed when we returned ; and yet, within a couple 
of months, they were back as they had been at the 
start. We had made up our minds to quit the 
detestable mine life as soon as possible, and start 
a trading station down in the country we had just 
visited, making our headquarters at Chivamba's 
village, on the edge of the bush veld. We were 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 99 

going to train our cattle, buy a wagon, and trek 
eastwards again, this time through Fort Victoria, 
as soon as the rains were over. Unfortunately, 
however, the rains had not yet begun, and there 
were six months to be killed, somehow. Naturally 
enough, we went back to the mine for work ; and 
the mine did not treat us too well. The Boss was 
away — he was still the most hard-worked man in 
Matabeleland — and, though he gave Malcolm a job 
on another mine as soon as he returned, the Geelong 
could not find a vacancy for him or for me. Finally, 
however, I went to the West Nicholson, a detestably 
unhealthy camp in those days, with the most insect- 
infested quarters I have ever struck. There I set 
to work to try and repair the rock-drill machines 
which the Cousin Jack miners had been knocking 
to pieces, 

I stood the West Nicholson for a couple of 
months, whilst a Dutchman was training some of 
my wild young bulls ; then the fever got the upper 
hand of me, and I went to the Geelong hospital, 
where the doctor pulled me together a bit — I never 
knew him fail in a fever case which was not hopeless 
from the outset — and then he told me bluntly to 
quit Matabeleland and go home. I suppose, if 
I had been wise, I should have followed his advice. 
However, instead of doing so, I bought a small 
wagon and some trek gear, engaged an alleged 
driver, inspanned my wild beasts, and started off 
on the Transport Road. 



CHAPTER X 

I DO not remember meeting another home-born 
transport rider all the time we were on the road. 
It is curious that such an exceedingly remunerative 
occupation should have been left to the Afrikanders ; 
but the reason probably was that men were shy 
about taking on a job they did not understand. 

I never loved my brother Boer very much, and 
I loved the colonial far less ; but, somehow, on 
the road the question of nationality seemed to 
matter but little. We might, in fact we did, 
squabble over pitiful trifles in the mining camps 
or the little whisky-soaked townships ; we hated 
each other cordially, and generally without much 
reason ; we were always on the lookout to do each 
other a bad turn, or to spread a nasty story — in 
short, the environment, or the atmosphere, which- 
ever you will, was hopelessly wrong. It turned 
the weak man into a blackguard, the blackguard 
into a beast. On the road, however, we got back 
to the primitive decencies of life, and, as a result, 
behaved decently. There was no bullyragging 
general manager to be studied, no crawling, white- 
clad secretary ever ready to carry some slimy 
untruth to the consulting engineer, no spies, 
perpetually on the lookout for a chance to make 
up a tale about you. A transport rider was his 
own boss, working for his own hand, the most 
independent, really the only independent, man in 
the country, because the country could not get on 

lOO 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 101 

without him. As a rule, he detested both the 
mining companies and the Government, knowing 
that the two were working hand in hand, and 
desired nothing more than they did to cut down 
his earnings. The mines wanted to treat the 
transport riders as they treated their employes — 
rottenly ; and the Chartered Government — or at 
least the local officials — was with them heart and 
soul. 

On the road we did not love Cecil Rhodes. 
There were many little things to show us how his 
sympathies ran, and, finally, there was the one big 
thing, during the later stages of the Boer War, 
when he tried to flood the transport market, and 
deprive us of our livelihood, by getting up four 
hundred wagons and spans belonging to so-called 
" refugees " from the Transvaal, a foul and insanitary 
crew which had been in arms against us a few weeks 
before. The transport riders never forgave Rhodes 
for that. Unlike the mining companies, we had 
never received any special favours from the Govern- 
ment, and we had asked none ; but we had done all 
the roughest work in the opening up of the country, 
and we did expect fair play. Curious how these 
memories rankle still ; and I fancy I am not the 
only one who has not forgotten his bitterness. 

My first span consisted entirely of bulls, sixteen 
wild animals, who seemed to consider that, the 
moment they were in the yoke, they were expected 
either to throw themselves on the ground, or to 
roar their loudest, or to try and smash up the trek 
gear. They were a charming crowd. Usually, it 
took about two hours to catch them, an hour to 
inspan them, and then, when we did get off, they 



102 THE DIARY OF 

stuck regularly every quarter of a mile. My driver 
was a Zulu, a perfect and absolute fool. I am 
certain he had never driven before, because In that 
case his baas must have killed him. 

I made first for Bulawayo, up a little-used track 
across the veld. The wagon was quite empty, yet, 
so far as I can remember, the trip of eighty miles 
took us twelve days. Possibly, I had showed that 
driver too plainly what I thought of him, and he 
had divined my intention of sacking him ; at any- 
rate, a couple of hours after we had outspanned 
at the old Racecourse outspan on the Tull Road 
he vanished, never to return. I did not look for 
him ; instead, I sent a piccannin down to the 
Location to Inform the mixed rascality there that 
I wanted a driver, who must be neither a Cape 
boy nor a Zulu, must not speak English or know 
how to read and write. 

The following morning a strange little figure 
strolled up carrying a bundle of blankets, which he 
deposited on the end of the wagon, as though 
his enofaCTement were a matter of course. He was 
clad In a very old canvas shirt and a much-patched 
pair of dungaree trousers, whilst on his head was 
the remains of a Boss of the Plains hat, yet he 
had one of the best wagon whips I have ever 
seen knotted round his waist, and a most business- 
like sjambok hanging on his wrist. He told me that 
his name was Amous, that he heard I had a span 
of very little cattle which were cheeky in the yoke, 
and he had come to break them in and train them 
so that my wagon would never stick. I asked him 
if he could drive, and he answered calmly that he 
was the best driver in the country. For once, a 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 103 

native told me the truth, I never saw the equal 
of that quaint little old Basutu, who served me 
with doglike fidelity so long as I had cattle for 
him to drive. 

I believe, honestly, that Amous made me readjust 
my estimate of black humanity, certainly he made 
me modify it greatly. He was absolutely tireless, 
and absolutely honest so far as my stuff was con- 
cerned ; and if he stole such trifles as cattle bells, 
reims, or neck strops, he always did it for my 
benefit. He lied, of course, but his lies never in- 
jured me, and I never knew of them until he was 
leaving, when he admitted casually that he could 
read and write but had never told me before for 
fear I should sack him. " I knew I should never 
forge your name, like a Zulu or a Mission Kaiifir 
would have done," he added. 

When he had been with me a year, I discovered 
that he had a wife in Bulawayo ; that fact, too, he 
mentioned casually, and when I asked him how she 
was getting on, all alone, he remarked that we had 
been so busy training in young cattle, and attending 
to important matters like that, that there had been 
no time to think about her. 

I engaged Amous at three pounds ten a month 
and his food. The moment the deal had been 
struck, he asked me for some tobacco, filled an 
enormous Boer pipe which was sticking in his 
belt, then hurried off to inspect his new span of 
cattle. A couple of hours later he was back, full of 
enthusiasm. They were very little cattle indeed, he 
said ; but they were all strong, and they would grow 
big. As soon as we got down to the low veld, we 
would buy another span, and then another ; and. 



104 THE DIARY OF 

after that, we would ride transport properly ; pass- 
ing all the other wagons, which would only have 
huge, slowly moving colonial oxen. He grew 
quite enthusiastic about the matter, and I saw 
that he was one of those Basutu to whom cattle 
are an obsession, who have no thought for any- 
thing beyond the span they happen to be driving. 

Amous never seemed to finish his work. At the 
outspans, if he were not greasing the wheels or 
cutting new brake blocks, he was trimming a whip 
or hacking out yoke skeys. Even at the end of 
a night trek, when a reasonable being would have 
rolled himself up in his blankets at once, Amous 
would gather the unfortunate piccannins round the 
fire, and give them a lecture on oxen and their 
ways, and woe betide the little boy who dared to 
go to sleep. 

Often, before I have dropped off myself, I have 
caught something like this : " Now, Rooiland, who 
pulls eight up in Klaas' span, is not properly trained. 
See how he turned the yoke in that mud hole to-day. 
Whilst Witpans, in my span " — and so on, until I 
would call out to him to let the wretched youngsters 
go to bed, an order which was always obeyed re- 
luctantly. 

The night after Amous entered my service the 
piccannin disappeared. Possibly, he foresaw that 
a new regime had begun, and felt his own in- 
ability to come up to Amous' standard. By a 
curious piece of luck, however, his place was filled 
immediately, by a small and sad-looking youngster 
who seemed to belong to no particular tribe and 
to have no particular home. I never knew his 
real name, although he was with me a consider- 




BULAWAYO IN THE EARLY DAYS. 




A MINE COMPOUND. 



A SOLDIER OP FORTUNE 105 

able time. Amous called him the " Scarmanyorka," 
a perfectly untranslatable word, explaining that the 
boy's proper name was too long for ordinary use ; 
so the Scarmanyorka he became thenceforth. 

I loaded in Bulawayo for a trading station in 
the M'Patane district. Naturally, as I was travel- 
ling with a single wagon drawn by untrained bulls 
in the wet season, I did not take much stuff, only 
two thousand six hundred rounds ; but I found that 
almost too much. Amous did wonders with the 
cattle ; in a couple of treks he had got them into 
some semblance of a span ; but all his skill could 
not alter the fact of the mud. It was the wettest 
season which had been known in the country for 
several years, and in many places we literally 
ploughed along, despite the lightness of our load. 
Still, we kept going somehow until we reached 
a great mudflat near the Killarney mining camp, 
and there we stuck, hopelessly. There was no 
other transport on the road to help us out : the 
mine had no cattle to lend ; consequently, the only 
course was to make a sledge of tree trunks and 
drag our load across the mud on that, afterwards 
returning for the wagon. It was not a very 
pleasant trip on the whole, though it had one 
good effect — when I got back to Bulawayo, some 
weeks later, the cattle were sufficiently trained for 
us to start on our long journey, through Gwelo, 
Selukwe and Victoria to Chivamba's kraal. 

We left Bulawayo in March with about two 
hundred pounds' worth of trading stuff and stores ; 
and about a hundred pounds in gold for cattle- 
buying ; no great amount of capital perhaps ; but 
still more than most traders have at the outset. As 



106 THE DIARY OF 

a rule, they are started in business by some whole- 
sale firm, which charges them exorbitantly for their 
Kaffir truck, takes their grain or cattle over from 
them at about half the market rate, never allows 
them to have any cash, insisting on paying every- 
thing in goods or Port Elizabeth whisky, and in the 
end, when the business has been worked up to a 
decent size, finds some excuse for seizing the whole 
and turning the unfortunate proprietor adrift. We, 
on the other hand, were always independent of the 
wholesale people. We bought wherever we liked ; 
but, even then, we were constantly swindled. It 
was but rarely that the stuff in the cases or bales 
bore more than a mere family likeness to the 
samples we had been shown. 

In excuse, I have often heard it urged that the 
competition in Bulawayo was very severe, and the 
wholesale men had to live. Personally, I could 
never see any necessity for the continued existence 
of most of them. 

Gwelo was then, and probably is still, little more 
than a collection of shanties disfiguring a mudflat. 
Selukwe is a mining centre, with innumerable, grot- 
esquely hideous, iron buildings dotted about the 
slopes of some steep hills. All the bush and scrub has 
been cleared off the latter, and the whole landscape is 
thoroughly unsightly. I believe the district boasted 
that its average consumption of whisky per man was 
the highest in Africa, which also means the highest 
in the world. Possibly, it was right ; the mere look 
of the camps was enough to drive any man to 
drink. 

We arrived at Fort Victoria at last. I had often 
heard of the place, the first township founded in 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 107 

Mashonaland ; but I had never heard anyone de- 
scribe it. Consequently, I had kept an open mind 
concerning it, which was lucky, otherwise, I might 
have been surprised rather badly. On the official 
plan, a copy of which the Civil Commissioner used 
to have hanging on his door, behind an old coat, 
Victoria consisted of some half-dozen streets crossed 
by as many avenues. As a matter of fact, the white 
population, including a dozen police and a Boer 
family of fifteen which usually camped in an old 
wagon, never exceeded eighty in my time, and yet 
it sufficed to fill all the houses. In no case were 
there two buildings adjoining one another, and you 
generally made your way about, not by following 
those same streets and avenues, but by cutting 
across the tin and bottle strewn vacant spaces. 

The centre of life was, of course, the one hotel, 
the Thatched House. When, by chance, a man had 
any business to do, he transacted it there ; when he 
had none he waited there for some to come along, 
waited often for weeks, very cheerfully as a rule, for 
the hotel gave unlimited credit, and when you did 
go down with fever the hospital was a very com- 
fortable one. Nowadays, they tell me, there are 
only four men I used to know left in Victoria, and 
the place has changed entirely ; but when I knew it 
it was quite the best town in Rhodesia, the best so 
far as the character of its inhabitants was concerned. 
They were more virile, more hospitable, and in- 
finitely more English, than in the larger settlements. 
There was very little of that petty Afrikander spirit 
which seems to have given the tone to society in 
Salisbury and Bulawayo. Each man was always 
ready to help the next, and Victoria could boast 



108 THE DIARY OF 

truthfully that it never allowed a white man to go 
hungry or thirsty, if it knew of his needs. 

The town shook its head over its whisky when it 
heard that we proposed cutting a road to the kopje 
country. No one had ever taken a wagon down 
that way yet, it said. The drop in level was prob- 
ably about two thousand feet, and this was only 
spread over some twenty miles. As for our destina- 
tion, Chivamba's kraal, no one even knew the name, 
much less where the place lay. On the occasion of 
our other trek there, we had come in from Southern 
Matabeleland, now we were trying to reach it 
through Eastern Mashonaland ; and the task 
promised to be no easy one, at least when it was a 
case of going down with a loaded wagon. True, 
the Native Commissioners are supposed to keep 
lists of all kraals. Perhaps they do now, they 
certainly did not then. Moreover, the official 
name of a village which figures on the hut-tax roll is 
usually quite different from the one in general use. 

There is a trader's road running out of Victoria 
towards the south-east, the direction in which we 
reckoned Chivamba's lay. For twenty miles it was 
really good, leading across a level stretch of high 
veld ; but when we came to the kopjes the trouble 
began. No one had been down the last fifteen miles 
for several years, and I was not surprised at this 
when I walked on ahead and inspected that most 
appalling track. You tumbled down the sides of 
hills into watercourses at the bottom, and pulled out 
up a bank like the side of a house. In one place 
for fifty yards the road ran over, and down, one of 
those vast masses of granite which form perhaps the 
most noticeable feature in Mashonaland — smooth, 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 109 

slippery, furnishing no hold for the wheels, even 
when these had been locked with the brake. Half- 
way down was a broken wagon, a grim reminder 
of what the possibilities were. And yet, thanks to 
Amous' splendid driving, we got to the end of that 
road in safety ; and began the new phase of our 
journey, the actual search for Chivamba's. 

The track finished under a huge granite kopje, 
one of the largest I have ever seen. The country 
ahead looked terribly unpromising, range after 
range of hills, whilst we knew that, before we 
reached Chivamba's, we must descend to a good 
many hundred feet nearer the sea-level. 

Amous, not liking the look of things — he was 
quite new to the kopje country — walked on ahead 
to look for a way through ; Malcolm, hearing there 
were plenty of Lichtenstein Hartebeeste, a buck he 
had never shot, in the neighbourhood, went in 
search of them ; I, myself, crawled into the wagon 
tent with a raging dose of fever. My recollection 
of the next five days is very dim. I know it was 
five days, because, when I came back with Amous 
some months later, he showed me where the wagon 
had outspanned each night; but I could recall nothing 
of it. I must have seen the scenery as we trekked 
along ; but it all appeared new to me. Amous 
found a road of sorts ; winding in and out amongst 
the granite kopjes, from the top of which innumer- 
able baboons barked at the wagon. There was a 
kraal every mile or two, and whenever our track 
crossed a field — all the crops had been gathered 
already — some skinny old Mashona was certain to 
come out and demand compensation for the damage 
to his land. As a rule he was not the owner ; and, 



110 THE DIARY OF 

in any case, there was no harm done. Generally 
Amous used to catch them coming in, and his 
arguments were rapidly delivered and very effec- 
tive. He always excused his methods on the 
ground that the Mashona looked as if they were 
about to be cheeky, and he thought it best to stop 
them in time. 

At last, a fortnight after we left Victoria, we got 
definite news of Chivamba's. The local heathen 
said they knew it, it was by Bota's, and they volun- 
teered to show us the way. I was better then, and 
I went forward to see their proposed track. It was 
lucky I did so. A wagon might not have had " a 
wheel on the horns of the Morning," but it would 
have had all four "on the edge of the Pit." We 
scratched, so far as their route was concerned, and 
Amous said rude and pointed things, truths probably, 
about their female ancestors ; but I had recognised 
the country. It was that miserable stretch where 
we had hunted for the game which had eaten down 
all the grass, and had found waterbuck bones 
with the lions' stinking saliva on them. In short, 
we knew where we were. Ultimately, we had to 
tumble down a hillside. We took out all but the 
two hind bullocks, Biffel and Appel, the finest 
cattle transport rider ever had, and we let those 
two great brutes guide the wagon down. 

Men look on trek bullocks as mere animals. 
Well, men themselves are but animals, after all, so 
I suppose their idea is right ; but this I do know — 
I have come across but few men who had the loyalty 
and the courage and the patience of those trek 
bullocks of mine. I would sooner find Biffel and 
Appel, Fransman and Jackalass, Blomveld and Six- 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 111 

pence, and a hundred others I had afterwards, in 
Valhalla, than I would meet ninety-nine out of a 
hundred of the white men with whom I have had 
to do. They never went back on me. Biffel would 
come and shove his great head under my arm when 
I called *' Biffel, Biffel ! " To the crowd he might be 
a savage black bull of abnormal size ; to me he was 
a faithful friend, who loved me only a little less than 
he loved Amous, his driver. And so it was with the 
others ; they were unswervingly loyal, unvaryingly 
brave. Even now I can see them as I saw them on one 
horrible night in 1901, fighting through the flooded 
Umgesi River, just keeping their feet, straining at 
the yokes until the tough stinkwood cracked and 
cracked again, striving, not for their own safety, 
but to get the wagons, my wagons, into safety. 
When they had all got through, Amous sat down 
on the bank and cried — with joy, I suppose. And 
then men treat Kaffirs and bullocks as mere beasts, 
which merely proves what I learned before I had 
reached one and twenty, that the majority of men 
consists of shortsighted fools, who, having begun 
life obsessed with idiotic ideas, go on growing more 
idiotic every day. If you want faithful service, un- 
selfish love, unflinching courage, look for it in a dog, 
a Basutu, or a trek bullock, anywhere but in a white 
man on whom the curse of the South African tradi- 
tion has fallen. 



CHAPTER XI 

Chivamba's people came out to welcome us In their 
own peculiar way — that is to say, they tried first to 
extract payment for alleged damage to abandoned 
fields ; then they endeavoured to sell us utterly 
useless things at absurd prices ; and finally they 
drummed without ceasing for forty-eight hours. 
And yet they were a cheerful lot of beasts. I liked 
them all, with the exception of their witch doctor, 
MaTumela's father, whom my boys killed afterwards. 
Chivamba himself was a toothless old skeleton, prone 
to telling long stories in a forgotten dialect. When 
we got there he had just taken an additional wife, 
despite the fact that his memory stretched back over 
seventy years, to days prior to the time when 
N'Yamandi and his horde of blackguards marched 
northwards from Zululand into the Portuguese terri- 
tory. The Matabele irruption in 1837 under 
Umzilakazi — why will the pseudo-historians and 
pseudo-novelists call the old Lion of the North 
" Moselekatze " ? — was quite recent history to Chi- 
vamba ; he could tell you the whole story of it, with 
totally different detail on each occasion. Still, in 
his way, he was quite a good old boy. He used to 
spend most of his time squatting on a rock outside 
my camp, wrapped in a six-shilling blanket I had 
given him, and I missed him very much when, two 
years after my arrival, he was gathered to his 
fathers. 

Chivamba held strong ideas, even if he did express 

112 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 113 

them mumbllngly, in a dialect which had to be 
translated to me. He used to declare, with perfect 
truth, that the Mashona were increasing too rapidly. 
In the old days the Matabele kept the numbers 
down, by killing off the surplus, and anyone else 
who happened to get in the way of the stabbing 
assegais. Now, however, he said, there was no 
killing, and the people increased and multiplied 
at a dangerous rate. Soon there would be no land 
left to support the Mashona, who would have to 
move inland, to the high veld, where they would 
come into conflict with the white farmers and 
landowners. He talked sound common-sense, and 
I used often to wish that some white man could 
have carried his words, or at least his theories, 
back to England, and have rammed them down the 
throats of the Race Suicide idiots, who see in a 
declining birth rate, not a sign that the country is 
already overfull with the diseased and the unfit, but 
a sign of what, in their idiocy, they call National 
Degeneration. Chivamba was an old savage, with 
red mud rubbed in his wool, and with Kaffir beer 
and snuff as his chief joys in life ; but, as far as 
common-sense was concerned, he could give points 
to many reputedly great white men, even to 
American presidents and Anglican bishops. Only, 
being a savage, he could not advertise himself. 
Some day I myself hope to get up and preach 
Chivamba's creed, and, I suppose, be barred 
absolutely in consequence. Of course, it is all 
tilting at windmills ; we are essentially a people 
delighting in unctuous platitudes, and " Increase 
and multiply " has been taken as part of the creed 
of every party. We, or at least the majority of us, 

H 



114 THE DIARY OF ^ 

recognise the survival of the fittest as one of Nature's 
greatest laws ; and then we go out of our way to 
secure the survival and the propagation of the unfit. 

There was a little kopje near Chivamba's kraal, 
and, after making sure that we could not hear too 
much of the drums from it, we decided to build our 
store on its summit. It was a fine place for a camp. 
Whatever breeze was blowing, we were certain to 
get it. We had a magnificent view up and across 
the valley ; and from the doorways of our huts we 
could always see the sun set behind what we after- 
wards named the " Hyaena Kopje." There was 
plenty of water a hundred yards away, plenty of 
feed for our cattle, plenty of guinea-fowl clamouring 
to be shot in the old lands near by, plenty of game, 
from koodoo down to duiker, in the scrub ; whilst, 
if a man wanted the brutes, there was a plethora of 
lions around M'Bambo's kraal, a bare eight miles 
away to the eastward. 

Our first task was to fix the prices of things, after 
consultation with Chivamba, Bota and a couple 
more local chiefs. A nigger is a funny animal. 
He believes that cheapness means nastiness ; and 
he has his own ideas as to what goods should cost. 
According to his law, a Kaffir pick, a heart-shaped 
affair weighing two and a half pounds, and costing 
us one and ninepence, was worth five shillings, no 
more and no less. Limbo, trade calico, was a yard 
and a half for a shilling, and so on. They proposed 
also to fix a bullock, big or small, at ten pounds ; a 
fat-tailed sheep at a pound ; a goat at ten shillings ; 
but to these terms we would not agree, declaring 
that each beast must be the subject of debate and 
bargaining. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 115 

From the outset we did a big trade. The local 
savages were hungering for stuff, and cattle and 
sheep and goats poured in on us faster than we 
could build scherms to accommodate them. You 
cannot keep accurate books when your business is 
mainly barter ; but I fancy that our profits for the 
first season must have been at least twelve hundred 
pounds, though, as all this went into the business 
in cattle, wagons, gear and trading stuff, we never 
actually touched it. 

We bought cattle from the natives for cash, and 
they bought goods from us with part of that cash 
■ — that was the principle of our business. We kept 
the pick of the cattle for ourselves, broke them in 
to the yoke, and rode transport with them, working 
the wagons ourselves in the wet season when the 
fever drove us away from Chivamba's ; and at 
other times letting Amous, or a young Dutchman, 
work them. The cows and the showy young bulls, 
which did not look like making transport animals, 
we sold again to white men ; and on these I know 
that during the first season we made a clear ninety 
per cent, on our outlay. Trading goods sold on 
the average for a little over double what they cost, 
including allowance for transport. 

At the outset we naturally made some mistakes, 
buying unsaleable stuff and having it left on our 
hands. Once the manager of a wholesale store in 
Victoria, one of the two outsiders of the township, 
contrived to get Malcolm to take nearly two hundred 
pounds' worth of rubbish, mainly glazed calico and 
beads of many colours. I suppose we lost a hundred 
pounds on that lot, and the seller rejoiced for a 
time ; but I got the fellow later on, when he was 



116 THE DIARY OF 

very short of grain and I had plenty, and I squeezed 
him properly. It hurt him the more, because, after 
all, he had made the profit out of us for his firm ; 
whilst the loss on the grain was his private con- 
cern. I do like getting square with people. I left 
Rhodesia finally owing no man anything in money, 
and not owing very many grudges. I have since 
paid off most of the latter, though one or two men 
who have done me bad turns have died before I 
could even up the account. It is annoying when 
things go that way ; but it is more annoying still 
when the men to whom you owe a debt of gratitude 
drift out of your life altogether, and you never get 
a chance of repaying them for their kindness. And 
the good turns I had done me in Africa greatly 
exceeded in number the bad ones. 

If any man wants to go trading in Mashonaland — 
and I advise no one to do so, the game now not being 
worth the candle — let him leave all side lines alone, 
and take only blankets, limbo, beads and picks. 
The profits on these are definite and certain. You 
know where you are with them. They tell me now 
that the Greeks and the Germans, whom we allow 
to crawl in after the real white man has taken all 
the risks, and steal the white man's business, that 
these parasites have cut down prices so that any 
trader who wants to live decently, like a white man, 
can no longer do it, that trading is now a white 
Kaffir's job. I am afraid this is true ; if so, I hope 
the coolie will come along and cut out the others, 
for he is, at least, a British subject, and is, in nature, 
just as white as the average specimen of its in- 
habitants which a happy, and wise. Fatherland 
exports to our colonies. I have often been told 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 117 

that I am prejudiced against Germans. That may 
be so. The fact remains that I detest them, and I 
would gladly support a measure which forced them 
to wear gaberdines and pointed hats, and ring bells 
when they walked abroad, like the lepers of old. 
They are the canker in Africa ; and, if we were 
not a stupid people, we should not only charge an 
import duty, but should also levy a heavy poll tax 
on them. 

Nothing makes me so wild as to read the lists of 
unwholesome aliens who have been allowed to take 
out naturalisation papers. No decent man ever 
turns his back on the country of his birth. The 
mere fact of his wanting to do so proves that he 
was an unpatriotic and undesirable citizen of that 
country ; and, for that reason alone, he should be 
sent back to it, at once. But there is an even 
stronger reason for refusing the gift of British 
citizenship. Our fathers built up the Empire ; 
we are supposed to maintain it ; and we ought to 
regard it as a priceless heritage to be handed down 
to our sons. What right have we to part with even 
an infinitesimal portion of that heritage, to give it 
away to any alien scum, which, being itself disloyal 
to everything, wishes to become " British " because 
our laws will give it a better chance of making 
money than would those of its own land ? One 
never hears of an Englishman becoming a citizen 
of Germany or Greece, although I will admit that 
we have several millions whom we could spare 
those countries gladly. 

The Mashona is a curious individual to deal with, 
intensely suspicious, pitifully afraid of being ridiculed 
by his friends for making a bad bargain, full of a 



118 THE DIARY OF 

low and futile cunning, which is perpetually causing 
him to overreach himself. On the other hand, 
once he trusts you, his trust is given implicitly, and 
if you realise fully that he is, after all, only a savage, 
with a savage's limitations, and if you treat him as 
such and respect his savage's prejudices, then you 
can do what you like with him. He smells badly, 
he lies badly, his main joy and interest in life is in 
witchcraft and all its attendant abominations, he is 
a polygamist and a devil worshipper, he has never 
had a vote and does not want one, he never went 
to school and would not be able to distinguish a 
London County Councillor from a drainman ; and 
yet I like him in many ways, Heaven only knows 
why. Possibly the reason is that he recognises his 
own limitations frankly, and he is absolutely devoid 
of the smug hypocrisy which education evolves. 
He cheeks you, certainly, and, when the psycho- 
logical moment comes, he will do his best to kill 
you ; but, at the same time, he is never malicious. 
His cheek is due mainly to nervousness, and he 
murders by order of the witch doctors. 

The risks of trading as we understood it were 
considerable. Even if I were still a bachelor, with 
no ties, I do not think I would take it on again. 
Our position at Chivamba's was this — forty miles 
from us, half-way into Victoria, was the camp of a 
Native Commissioner. That official, whose know- 
ledge of his district was of the most slender discrip- 
tion, was our nearest, in fact our only, neighbour. 
We could go a hundred miles north, a hundred and 
fifty miles south, nearly three hundred miles east, 
without finding a white man ; we were absolutely 
alone amongst scores of thousands of savages. If 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 119 

the latter had risen, our chances would not have 
been worth considering. True, we were very 
popular, but popularity never yet saved a white 
man in those circumstances. He ceases to be an 
individual baas, and becomes merely part of the 
common enemy of the black man. Twice, we had 
alarms of native risings, the first was due to a 
rumour that Lobengula had reappeared, and had 
ordered every man to be ready to take the field. 
For a few days, matters looked ugly ; the youngsters 
were all for fighting, the elders all for peace. A 
big beer drink, ending in the murder of the nearest 
trader, would have resulted in a general revolt ; 
but, fortunately, it was too early in the year for 
beer to be plentiful, and the scare died down as 
quickly as it had arisen. The second time we 
heard rumours of revolt, things were more serious. 
It was Magalousa, our chief herd boy, who warned 
us to be in readiness to leave at a moment's warning. 
It was the old familiar story. The ofificials in 
Salisbury, finding that their gross mismanagement 
had brought about something nearly akin to a 
financial crisis, had turned to the native as a source 
of revenue, and had proposed to raise his hut tax 
of ten shillings per hut to a poll tax of two pounds 
a head. Already, the victims knew what was in 
contemplation ; and, as they could not possibly pay, 
they were preparing to do the only other thing — to 
fight ; a course which would have suited both the 
virtually insolvent mining companies, and the 
Afrikander element amongst the ofificials. For a 
week or two we were on the alert for further in- 
formation. Trade absolutely ceased during that 
time, not a single customer coming near the store ; 



I 



120 THE DIARY OF 

then, to our great relief, and also to the relief of 
the Mashona themselves, the police boys came out 
to summon the headmen in to pay the tax, ten 
shillings per hut as before. The danger was over 
immediately, and before it arose again we had 
ceased to be traders. 

The risk of accident was considerable. A gun 
might go off by mistake, a wounded buck might 
charge, the cattle might trample you, or a fall on one 
of the smooth boulders might result in a fractured 
thigh, yet we were never less than eighty miles 
from a doctor, and often over two hundred miles 
away from one. The fever and the complaints 
resulting from it were, however, our worst enemies. 
They were always with us, and it was seldom that 
one or other of us was not either ill or getting over 
a dose. Perhaps doctors can do little in cases of 
malaria ; but there is all the difference in being 
properly nursed and fed in a hospital, and in lying 
alone in a leaky hut with absolutely no food, save 
rough stuff" which your stomach rejects instantly. 

I had some bad times with fever, and I looked 
right into the Valley of the Shadow more than 
once ; but Amyas had the worst time of any of 
us. I had left him at Chivamba's to finish up 
the season's work, and was on my way home, 
when he went down with a severe dose of fever 
and dysentery. As I passed through Victoria I 
had sent him by runners a good selection of special 
food stuffs and medical stores, including some wine 
and liqueur brandy, as I was afraid he might be ill. 
I was not very anxious, because he had with him 
a youngster, an educated Afrikander, who had been 
our guest for several months ; but I found out after- 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 121 

wards that no sooner had I gone than this young 
savage repaid our hospitality after the manner of 
his kind : drank all the liquor ; ate all the food ; 
and then worried Amyas for the loan of thirty- 
five pounds to carry him down country, and having 
got that cleared off. Already he had robbed us 
of about sixty pounds' worth of trading stuff at 
another of our stations, where he had been stay- 
ing, nominally to shoot. He left Amyas, as he 
thought, dying, and the difficulty we had in getting 
even the thirty-five pounds back showed that he 
had obtained it reckoning I should never hear 
of the loan from Amyas' lips. As far as I can 
remember, every Afrikander who was ever my 
guest in those trading days did me a bad turn, 
or tried to do me one. 



CHAPTER XII 

When we first went down to Chivamba's the valley 
had one great advantage — there were no schelm 
there. One glance at the rotten state of the cattle 
kraals, in and out of which the beasts seemed to 
walk at will, was enough to tell you that. The 
goats, too, slept in the open, tied up to posts ; 
and the local heathen jeered at Amous when he 
began to build a lion-proof cattle scherm. It was 
just so much wasted work, Chivamba's elders de- 
cided, as they squatted on the rocks and watched 
the operations. Amous retorted that they were 
foolish old baboons, who could only be distinguished 
from their long-tailed relatives on the kopjes by 
the fact that they had rubbed red mud on their hair, 
a thing the other sort of baboon was too sensible 
to do. Then he went on with his scherm building, 
or, rather, made his trembling gang go on with it. 

Two months passed peacefully. During that 
time, we had bought about three hundred sheep 
and goats and nearly a hundred oxen ; conse- 
quently, there were regular, beaten footpaths 
leading to our place ; and, as many of the animals 
we had bought had come across the lion-infested 
veld to the east, it was not unnatural that the 
schelm came up in their wake. Curiously enough, 
however, from the very beginning, the schelm 
seemed to arrive in waves ; there would be a flood 
of them making night hideous, then, after a week 
or so, we would have a lull, not more than a couple 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 123 

of alarms a night, sometimes only one ; but the new 
wave was never long in rolling up, and I would once 
more have to take my blankets out on to the smooth 
flat rock in front of the hut, so as to be able to jump 
up immediately, when a nigger came and whispered : 
*' Chief, chief, there's an evil beast biting the cattle." 

The first schelm to arrive was a lion, a big male 
by his spoor. The incident was rather an interest- 
ing one. Chivamba's had been, to use the only ap- 
propriate phrase, on the burst. They had brewed 
a lot of beer, which had started them drumming, 
and after that, as one of them explained to me, 
though the beer was finished, the drumming kept 
them drunk. Be that as it may, I know they kept 
their detestable tom-toms going without a moment's 
intermission for seventy-two hours. Knowing the 
ways of Mashona, we had built our store where we 
could hear the row but faintly, still we could hear 
it, and I was sitting outside the mess hut, wonder- 
ing if they were ever going to cease when, suddenly, 
the noise stopped dead. A moment later a pic- 
cannin rushed up, followed by about thirty of Chiv- 
amba's men, breathless, perspiring, covered with dust, 
carrying muskets, battle-axes and assegais. 

" There's a lion biting your cattle, chief, down 
in the big vlei beyond the rapoko field," the 
youngster jerked out. 

We hurried down to the place, followed by all 
the Mashona, only to find that the lion had dis- 
appeared into some thick scrub, after having done 
no damage amongst the oxen. 

Chivamba's people were obviously perturbed. At 
first they were inclined to blame themselves. " We 
have drummed too long and that has brought the 



124 THE DIARY OF 

lion," they declared, taking a view which I supported 
most cordially. We found the spoor, found too 
that it was impossible to follow the brute on account 
of the bush, then, after leaving two armed boys to 
herd the cattle, we turned back. 

As we were crossing the old mealie lands, a 
piccannin came up, looking horribly scared, and 
said something to Chivamba's son, who was with 
us. Amous stayed behind to listen, curtly de- 
manded an explanation, smacked the piccannin's 
head sharply, gave Chivamba's son a dig in the ribs 
with the butt end of his rifle, then hurried after me. 

" They say it isn't a lion at all, baas, but a man 
who turns himself into a lion, a wizard with a 
grudge against the valley. The piccannin — I know 
him, he cheeked me when I shot his father's dog 
which had been eating our neck strops — the piccan- 
nin saw the lion going into a belt of scrub, and then 
saw a man running out on the other side. What 
fools these baboon folk are ! " 

We got our own boys together and set them to 
work right away, piling brushwood round the scherm. 
Before they had been at it long, Chivamba and his 
elders came up, squatted on their favourite rocks, 
took snuff copiously, and sneered as openly as they 
dared. After a while, Chivamba sent a message 
to say that it would be but polite for me to ask 
them to have something to eat. 

Amous carried back the answer, and entered into 
a short and one-sided argument, which ended in his 
kicking the more able-bodied visitors down the 
kopje side. He came back a little out of breath, 
and very indignant. He had told them, from me, 
to put their own rotten scherms in order, so that 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 125 

the lion should get nothing to eat in the valley ; 
and they had replied by remarking that white men 
were always fools, who did not even know the rudi- 
ments of witchcraft. It was not a lion at all, but a 
wizard who turned himself into a lion ; so they were 
taking the obvious course, and hanging very potent 
charms on the rotten poles of their cattle kraal. 
All the other villages were going to do the same, 
they added. 

That night the lion had a sniff round our scherm, 
got scared by a charge from a shot-gun, and there- 
upon found he had urgent business at a kraal on the 
other side of the valley, where he got a heifer. The 
following night Bota's lost a young bull ; two nights 
later Chivamba's own cow went ; and so it continued 
for about a week, to my intense disgust, for I knew that 
in the schelm world the news is passed along very 
quickly, and that the success of this one lion would 
mean other lions, and leopards and hyaenas as well. 
We set trap-guns and we put down tasty little 
pieces of meat flavoured with strychnine, with the 
sole result of making the old men wag their heads 
and jeer as openly as they thought safe. Once 
Amous, happening to go down to the kraal, found 
them throwing the bones, their favourite forms of 
witchcraft. He confiscated the bones, and kicked 
the witch doctor ; but it seemed that his interference 
had come too late, for the following day a whisper 
reached us, through one of the herd boys, that the 
terrible wizard had been found and destroyed. It 
appeared they had poisoned a poor, unoffending 
nigger over at Bota's kraal, some two miles away. 
Yet that very night the lion took one of Bota's calves. 
Of course, the old men swore it was a fresh lion 






126 THE DIARY OF 

altogether, a real Hon this time. They even went 
further and declared that it was my lion, that I had 
enticed it up with my cattle, and that I was respons- 
ible for their losses. Naturally, for a time, relations 
were a little strained. Amous beat his particular 
enemy, Chivamba's eldest son, and, as a mere 
matter of precaution against poisoning, all of 
Chivamba's boys who were working for us were 
discharged. But the breeze was soon over. The 
old headman himself came up on the excuse of 
begging some sugar, mumbled out an apology, 
and his boys came back without being told to do 
so. Consequently, the only one who had any un- 
pleasant recollections left was Chivamba's son ; but 
he deserved all he got. 

The schelm came fast, once the lion had shown 
them the way. A leopard climbed my cattle kraal 
and killed my two best calves, A lion — there were 
several domiciled in the valley now — found a donkey 
belonging to Amous, one he had bought off a coolie 
hawker, and we found the fore quarters only. Wild 
cats paid two or three visits a night to my fowls ; 
owls, great two-feet high brutes, did the same ; a 
black momba snake killed Swartboy, one of my best 
oxen, greatly to the delight of the Mashona, who 
ate the poisoned meat without a qualm and without 
any ill effects. The name of the hyaenas was legion. 
We must have poisoned scores of them, have killed 
as many more with trap-guns, yet the total always 
increased. We found out afterwards that it is a 
fairly safe rule to assume that, whenever you kill a 
hysena, three fresh ones will turn up to eat the 
carcass. If you remember this, it may save you 
cartridges, strychnine and disappointment. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 127 

Often at night that camp at Chivamba's was a 
miniature Zoo, or rather an Inverted Zoo, for the 
animals were loose and we were inside. Ultimately, 
after two hyaenas had actually stepped over Amyas 
as he lay sleeping across the doorway of his hut — 
we found their spoor Inside in the morning — we 
decided to fence in the camp with reeds. It was 
becoming a little too exciting for us. 

On one particular occasion we had a very 
interesting experience with schelm. We had been 
called up, I think, three times already, and had just 
got off to sleep properly, when a terrible clamour 
arose from the goat scherm, goats and sheep bleat- 
ing, the unmistakable voice of a hysena, and also 
something which sounded very like the growl of a 
leopard. We hurried down, to find the bars of the 
goat kraal literally torn asunder, one wounded goat, 
and one sheep missing. There was nothing to be 
done ; the schelm had departed — with their prey ; 
but in the morning we went down to the nearest 
water hole to see if the hyaenas had hidden any of 
the meat in the water, as is their usual custom. 
There It was, a fair-sized fragment, which we 
flavoured carefully with strychnine, and left on the 
footpath. In the morning there was one of the 
offenders absolutely rigid, the big male leopard, 
who had broken open the kraal for the hysenas. 
Him we skinned, then added a little more strychnine 
to the poison already In his carcass. Next morning 
his three hysena friends were also dead. It was a 
fine instance of poetic justice. The leopard and 
hysenas killed the sheep ; the sheep killed the 
leopard ; and the leopard killed the hyaenas. 

The most serious trouble we had with Chivamba's 



128 THE DIARY OF 

people was over the matter of poisoning. We failed 
completely to sympathise with each other's point of 
view on the question. The Mashona regarded 
poisoning as a pastime ; we looked on it as a crime. 
There had been a good deal of talk about it for 
some time. They had killed off several local men 
for no particular reason, at least so far as I could 
discover there was none ; and then they began to 
threaten my boys, particularly Magalousa, the cattle 
herd, who was a half-bred ]\Iatabele. Still, we did 
not take the thing very seriously, believing that 
they feared us too much to go to extremes ; more- 
over then, as always, except at the time of the lion 
affair, we were on very good terms with the whole 
valle}^ It was considered an honour to have a 
large store there, whilst the financial advantages 
resulting from our coming were not negligible. 

When we went down shooting to N'Glas' kraal 
in the bush veld, we were not worrying greatly 
about Chivamba's and their poisons. We had pretty 
good sport. Malcolm had then gone down to the 
Boer War, and was in charge of the signallers in 
Driscoll's Scouts ; but Amyas had joined me some 
months previously, and he had already got into the 
ways of the country. Malcolm is a good shot, an 
unusually good one. He is about the only man I 
ever met who can hit both a target and a buck ; as 
a rule your target marksman is absolutely useless 
for practical purposes ; to send him out on the veld 
is like putting a prize Alderney cow in the yoke. 
Malcolm is a good shot, as I have said ; but 
Amyas was a perfect one. In that, as in every- 
thing else, he excelled by what seemed a kind of 
natural process. Instinctively, when you met him, 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 129 

you expected him to do better than yourself, and 
his extraordinary charm of manner prevented you 
from resenting the fact. 

We had some good shooting that trip. N'Glas' 
people got very full of meat, which they needed, 
poor wretches, their crops having failed completely 
that year. We had been there about a week, and 
were just thinking of going back to the store, when 
an old man named Gabaza, whom we knew well as 
one of the most decent natives in the district, came 
and begged our permission to live at our store. He 
would build himself a hut beside the cattle scherm, 
he said, and he could live by tilling some of the 
vacant land at the foot of our kopje. He was 
growing old and stiff, he explained, and he was 
tired of the constantly recurring famines in the 
bush veld. He was a Tchangana, of pure Zulu 
blood, and he hated living amongst dogs of 
M'Hlengwi. Later on we found out that he was 
formerly one of the head indunas of M'Zila, the 
chief of Gazaland ; but he had fallen into disfavour 
with M'Zila's successor, Gungunhana, and had fled 
westwards to save his life. 

Gabaza came up with us, and straightway began 
to build his hut. He was, I think, the most gentle- 
manly native I ever knew ; consequently, when 
Chivamba's people came to complain that I had 
introduced one of their hereditary enemies, a 
Tchangana, into their midst, that he was using land 
which they themselves wanted — we were paying 
the Chartered Company a rent of ten pounds a year 
or that same land— they heard some home truths 
concerning themselves, and some speculations con- 
cerning their ancestors. They departed, grumbling. 



130 THE DIARY OF 

and something which one of them said was over- 
heard by Amous, whose action increased their pace 
appreciably. 

For a week or two we heard no more. Gabaza 
finished his hut, and began to break up his piece of 
land ; then I went away, leaving Amyas behind, 
and I did not hear the rest of the story for some 
months. It seems that, as soon as I had gone, the 
local witch doctor began to throw the bones, and, by 
their magic, he discovered that it was auspicious for 
Gabaza to die, and that the ordinary poison, powdered 
bamboo, would prove effective. Had he been con- 
tent to stop there, it is possible that that same 
witch doctor might still be throwing bones and 
poisoning innocent folk ; but he went too far, and 
discovered that it would also be most auspicious to 
poison Amyas as well. 

Powdered bamboo Is a horrible thing. The 
minute spines stick in the intestines and set up 
ulceration. The victim seems to be suffering from 
a severe attack of dysentery, and I fully believe that 
more than half the so-called dysentery cases in 
South Africa are caused in this vile way. Gabaza 
died within forty-eight hours, tied up in a knot. 
Amyas sent him down brandy and opium ; but it 
was little good. On the other hand, Amyas himself 
made a hard fight and pulled round, though it left 
him frightfully thin and weak. 

On the second night after old Gabaza's death, 
Amyas was awakened suddenly by loud voices out- 
side his hut, the cook boy disputing with some 
obviously excited MaTchangana. So far, my brother 
had imagined his complaint to be dysentery — he was 
too ill to indulge in speculations — but the moment 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 131 

the new-comers entered the hut and explained matters, 
he understood what had really occurred. Both he 
and Gabaza had been poisoned, and the Mashona 
were already boasting of their valiant deed. There 
were fifteen of those MaTchangana, young men, all 
armed with stabbing assegais. They had come at 
a run for nearly forty miles, and they had come to 
wipe out Chivamba's village, to kill everything, even 
the fowls, as their fathers had been wont to do in 
the good days, before the white man came, when a 
warrior was a warrior, and a Mashona was a dog. 
They wanted Amyas to come too, to see how 
thoroughly they were going to do it ; and for a 
moment the boy — he was barely twenty then — 
wavered, feeling much as they did about Mashona. 
A word from him would have started a big tribal 
war, bush veld against kopje country ; but he did 
not say that word, and so saved Chivamba's sleeping 
village. Instead, he quieted down the warriors, 
promising to go with them in the daylight, when 
they would be able to see that no Mashona escaped ; 
then he ordered a goat to be slaughtered for them ; 
and, in place of killing someone else, they gorged 
themselves. In the morning most of their fierce 
resolutions had vanished. They were stiff from 
their long run, cold from having slept without 
blankets, so it was an easy matter to persuade 
them to leave their assegais in the store, and 
merely call on Chivamba's men with sticks. As 
it was, the Mashona spent a rather miserable day 
up their own kopje, whilst the victors smashed the 
drums and beer-pots, and scattered the livestock 
over the veld. 

The sequel to the poisoning came nearly six 



132 A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 

months later, when we returned after the wet 
season. It was too serious a matter to ignore, 
yet the law would have been useless. It was 
Amyas who hit on the scheme we adopted. It was 
simple and effective. Late one night we strewed 
nicely poisoned pieces of meat round the village ; 
and next morning, before anyone belonging to 
Chivamba 's was up, we went out and collected nine 
mangy curs, stark and horrible. These were ar- 
ranged in a semicircle outside our big hut, and 
then Chivamba and his elders were summoned. 
They came, a little tottering and apprehensive, and 
as tehy squatted down they glanced at the dead 
dogs out of the corners of their eyes. 

In reply to a question, they admitted that the 
curs were dead, very dead, and then they admitted, 
too, that the white man's poisons were stronger than 
their own. They did not deny the poisoning of 
Amyas and Gabaza ; consequently, the rest was 
easy. We made a bargain — a most improper 
bargain perhaps — that we should not put strychnine 
in their water hole so long as they abstained from 
trying to poison ourselves and our boys ; and, I 
must say this much for Chivamba's people — they 
kept to the terms of our agreement. 

As for the witch doctor himself, I was never quite 
sure what was the nature of the accident with which 
he met at the hands of my boys. I told them, 
casually, that he was the head poisoner, and they 
answered, also casually, that he was doubtless a dog. 
I think they found him down in the vlei that very 
day. At anyrate, as I never saw him again, I did 
not inquire, and they volunteered no information, 
which was just as it should be in such cases. 



CHAPTER XIII 

We had been trading at Chlvamba's about six months 
when my youngest brother, Amyas, joined us. He 
had been on a farm in Canada for a year or so, 
having gone there when he was only fifteen, and he 
came out to Africa full of Canadian ideas concerning 
matters pastoral and agricultural. Canada is es- 
sentially the land of scientific farming, of white 
labour worked to the limit ; the dollar itself, and 
not what the possession of the dollar can bring, is 
the farmer's ambition. South Africa, on the other 
hand, is tied together with reims, strips of raw hide. 
You can afford to adopt crude measures when native 
labour is so cheap, and you know that the locusts or 
the drought will probably destroy your crops. Why 
worry under such conditions ? So long as there is 
enough to eat, and a little more than enough to 
drink, and there is good shooting in the low veld, 
a man is a fool to put capital and energy into his 
land. 

Amyas came out from Canada, knowing things. 
He was shocked first ; then amused, but in the end 
he accepted it all as inevitable. He saw that the 
real Curse on Africa is the Curse of the Afrikander 
Tradition, and, being wise, he realised that there 
was no use in kicking against it. We were making 
money then, and our idea was to get all we could out 
of South Africa, work our reef out, and then spend 
what we had made in a white man's land. 

He was a fine boy. Reviewers tell me, with irri- 
133 



134 THE DIARY OF 

tating repetitions, that I cannot draw a woman's 
character in my novels, I daresay they are right, 
in fact they must be — as a reviewer myself I know 
we cannot err. I know why I fail so far as women 
are concerned. For five years I never spoke to an 
educated Home-born woman, and those five years 
were the period during which a youngster usually 
gets the impressions which last ; but during that 
period I met many fine men, and of these the finest 
was that young brother of mine. Physically he was 
splendid, mentally he was perfect. His sense of 
honour was equalled only by his courage. He had 
that strange magic in his nature which made every- 
one agree without demur to what he proposed. He 
was the youngest of us, and, as our generation has 
no sons, it may be that he will prove to have been 
the last manchild of our family born. If so, the 
family will have ended well, in its best son. Any- 
way, there can be none better ; and there can hardly 
be one as good. 

Amyas got the grip of things at once ; and when, 
at the end of our first season, Malcolm went down 
to the war, he really took the principal part in the 
business. I always make bad bargains — publishers 
can tell you so — but Amyas always got the last cent 
out of the other side ; so, in the end, I used to buy 
from the natives and he used to sell to the white 
man, an arrangement which worked excellently. 

I shall never forget the day I went to meet him 
on his arrival in Victoria. I had come up from 
Chivamba's with a Scotch cart and six oxen, hav- 
ing done the journey in five days, or rather in five 
nights, for the grass was too poor to allow of day 
trekking. It was all right amongst the kopjes 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 135 

pleasant travelling ; but when we climbed on to 
the high veld the bitter cold of winter caught us. 
The cattle suffered as badly as, or even worse 
than, we did. Poor brutes, I pitied them heartily. 
Morning would find them so stiff and chilled that, 
really, it was a positive kindness to inspan them 
and get them to work. I was sleeping on the 
ground, of course, in the open, and the last morn- 
ing before reaching Victoria the frost was so sharp 
that I awoke, or rather the alarm clock awakened 
me, at three o'clock, to find my blankets covered 
with hoarfrost. 

Under those conditions a man does not wash 
and shave, nor does he change his clothes. I 
should have looked dilapidated enough in any 
case ; but it so happened that much of the veld 
we crossed was burned off, and the fine black ash 
literally choked the pores of my skin. I turned up 
at the Thatched House Hotel, thin, gaunt, yellow 
from fever under my grime, with three days' 
growth of beard. I was clad in tattered dungaree 
trousers, an old canvas shirt, its breast pockets 
sagging down with cartridges, I had veldschoen 
on my feet, no socks, and a rather rusted rifle in 
my hand ; these, with an ugly-looking sheath knife 
in my belt and a very large Boer pipe in my 
mouth, made up a rather unlovely whole. It is 
typical of African ways, or rather of the mental 
attitude which Africa produces, that I was totally 
unconscious of anything being wrong ; it was only 
when Amyas, handsome, well-shaven and scrupu- 
lously clean, criticised my appearance in detail 
that I realised my shortcomings. In time, he did 
effect an improvement ; but, even then, I merely 



136 THE DIARY OF 

succeeded in looking like a discharged Portuguese 
official. My dark eyes and the dull yellowness of 
my skin, the hall - mark of malaria, combined to 
render me totally unlike an ordinary Englishman. 

We had our first beer drink soon after Amyas 
came. Let me explain at once that the Mashona 
drank the beer, not we ourselves. Cocoa folk have 
since told me that we were grievously in the wrong, 
that we were encouraging the heathen in his blind- 
ness ; and I know that their views have, at least, 
the merit of sincerity ; that, on the cocoa plantations 
whence that mouth-clogging drink comes, not only 
has the native no beer on which to get intoxicated, 
but he has no pay wherewith he might be tempted 
to buy beer. So that, after all, the institution of 
slavery is of benefit to the great Temperance cause. 
By its means, tens of thousands of savages are 
rescued from the grip of the demon of strong 
drink. 

We started the beer drinks primarily because 
they would furnish a break in the monotony of 
life — and trading can be monotonous — but inci- 
dentally they brought us a lot of trade. On the 
first occasion, we gave Chivamba's two thousand 
pounds' weight of grain, and told it to make beer 
for the countryside, an order it obeyed with 
alacrity. During the brewing process, deputations 
from other villages dropped in, to see how it was 
getting on, and to ascertain the precise date of 
the gathering. We bought pumpkins and monkey 
nuts and meal for those who wanted to eat as 
well as drink, and we even provided several 
hundred pounds of waterbuck bull biltong, which 
is stuff that only a Kaffir or a hyaena can masticate. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 137 

Our invitation to the district was to come — and 
bring its drums. We regretted the latter part 
afterwards, for the social function was held in an 
old rapoko field just below our kopje, and there 
were nine and twenty drums, which were beaten 
without pause, or even slackening of effort, for 
forty-eight solid hours. The biggest drum, which 
was also the least offensive, was three feet across, 
the worst ones were Chivamba's own, little noisy 
brutes, which you could hear above all the others. 
Our guests drank deep and then danced, drank 
deeper, then danced more vigorously. I reckon 
there were about five hundred of them, four 
hundred Mashona, a hundred M'Hlengwi and 
MaTchangana. The two latter danced together, 
the Tchangan dance, standing in a row, their 
assegais in their right hands, stamping their feet 
to that eternal, sickening song which they sing 
on every possible occasion, the old war chant of 
their tribe when summoned to muster for a fight — 

" We have been called, we have been called, O chief, 
We have been called and we have come." 

Even at the end of the first twelve hours, those 
words begin to pall on the listener. The Mashona 
danced national dances too, very similar to the 
antics of baboons. They were better off so far 
as the number of their songs was concerned, having 
five or six, all equally lewd and perfectly untrans- 
latable. 

The second morning, old Bota, the headman 
of the district, sent word to us that, though the 
beer had been finished twelve hours after they 
had started, they were still drunk. The truth of 



138 THE DIARY OF 

his statement was so obvious that we wondered 
he had troubled to make it. The heathen had 
his famous bHndness on. We thanked Bota for 
telling us ; then, a few minutes later, a messenger 
came back to say that, as we had many cattle, 
more than anyone could need, it would be mere 
politeness on our part to have one slaughtered 
for our guests, who, in that case, would stay at 
least three days longer. He even indicated the 
beast they would like, one of Amous' hind bullocks. 
The Basutu driver, who was listening, fairly splut- 
tered with wrath, and suggested that Bota should 
be beaten without delay ; but the Mashona were 
our guests and we calmed the little man down. 

They drummed on steadily through that day; 
but about nightfall Mashona and M'Hlengwi began 
to quarrel. It was the old, savage feud between 
the bush veld and the kopje country ; and, for a 
few minutes, matters looked ugly. Every man of 
the five hundred was armed with assegais, and most 
had muskets as well ; but we got amongst them 
with sjamboks, and drove them back to their dancing. 
By the third morning we were heartily sick of it ; 
and we sent for Bota and the M'Hlengwi chief, 
and gave them a hint that they were outstaying 
their welcome. The M'Hlengwi went at once — I 
think they had had enough of it — but the Mashona 
drummed on with redoubled vigour, until we ap- 
peared amongst them with wagon whips, handy 
little implements, forty-five feet long from the butt 
of the stick to the end of the lash ; then, under- 
standing that the party was over, they gathered up 
their drums and rattles and departed homewards, 
apparently not in the least fatigued. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 139 

Amongst other things we tried during our trading 
days was recruiting labour for the mines. We had 
a good reputation amongst the natives, extending 
as far east as the sea, as far south as the Low 
Country In the Transvaal. If we said a certain 
mine would treat the boys well they were perfectly 
ready to believe us. We made two contracts for 
supplying natives, one with the Globe and Phoenix 
mine at two pounds per head, one with the Geelong, 
at thirty shillings a head ; the difference In price 
being due to the fact that the former wanted a 
guarantee of three months' service, whilst the latter 
was to pay on delivery and chance its luck after 
that. 

The Globe and Phcenix people treated me well. 
They were genuinely anxious for boys, knowing 
that their reef, if not abnormally rich, continued 
payable to a great depth — in short, that their mine 
was a commercial proposition. In common with 
the Geelong, they would not have Rhodesian 
natives, all I sent in must come from across the 
Portuguese border, although I offered them five 
hundred Mashona a month at ten shillings a head. 
As regarded the Geelong, I never quite under- 
stood what happened. My argument was made In 
Bulawayo, with one of the heads, a man of un- 
blemished honour who still believed In the property. 
He really wanted me to send In boys, knowing they 
were badly needed. Yet, when I did send In a 
party, my messenger who accompanied it returned 
with a rude note from a plethoric person on the 
mine — I remember he looked like a hippo calf, but 
I cannot recall his name — who was acting manager, 
or secretary, or something like that, telling me that 



140 THE DIARY OF 

the Geelong, having more boys than it needed, 
wished to cancel my contract. The messenger was 
about a fortnight on the way back ; two days after 
he returned, a runner came down from Victoria 
with the latest Bulawayo paper, from which I 
learned that, very reluctantly, the Geelong had 
closed down, owing to want of native labour. I 
wonder how much the bears made that time — and 
who the bears were. 

I learnt one useful thing in Rhodesia, never to 
speculate in what some grim humorist has called 
" Rhodesian Securities " ; not that I have ever had 
the money, either of my own or anyone else's, 
wherewith to speculate, but if publishers or editors 
ever do present me with a vast cheque, I think I 
shall buy labourers' hovels in South-East Essex, 
somewhere Tilbury way, and get some of those 
high-minded Gravesend solicitors or agents to 
collect my rents, then, though my tenants will die 
of typhoid or other dirt diseases, I shall wax rich, 
and my agents will become mayors or county 
councillors, or whatever else such people do be- 
come before they get the justice which this world 
has omitted to serve out to them. Even to-day, if 
you go to Gravesend, in Dickens' own country, you 
will find the direct descendants of the Dodsons 
& Foggs and of a score more of his undesir- 
able folk. The type survives and flourishes there 
still. 

The labour-recruiting work nearly landed us in 
difficulties. When we started it, we decided to send 
out about twenty messengers down to the Portuguese 
border, to spread the glad tidings that whosoever 
wished to take up the black man's burden, as rep re- 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 141 

sented by the privilege of pounding a drill or 
shovelling quartz, had only to apply to us. It is 
the proper way to do it, if you get the proper 
messengers. We did not, and therein lay the 
trouble. We took on twenty savages, all of whom 
we knew of old as decent workers ; but we did not 
reckon on the difference which the lack of our super- 
vision, and of Amous' sjambok, would make. Cer- 
tainly Amous did suggest that they should all be 
beaten before they left, urging that they were 
certain to get fat and cheek by-and-by, being 
Amagomo (hillmen) and therefore akin to baboons. 
But we very foolishly disregarded his advice — we 
always reckoned an Englishman does not go in for 
hitting Kaffirs, that being an essentially Afrikander 
industry — in fact, we even went further, and agreed 
to their request for coats and hats to keep them 
warm at nights. We had a bale of old City police 
overcoats, badly rat-eaten to be sure, but still im- 
posing and official, and we had some trade felt hats. 
Each of our messengers was lent a coat and a hat, 
and away the twenty went. 

A fortnight passed without a word from any of 
them ; then an old headman from a kraal near the 
Sabi River, a most decent native for his kind, came 
up to complain of the doings of our "police," and to 
beg us to recall them. Two of them had quartered 
themselves on his village, had insisted on receiving 
the best of everything, goats and fowls had to be 
slaughtered for them, special brews of beer prepared, 
the children had to go without their milk, the old 
men without their eggs ; they were the police of the 
white man of Chivamba's store, and the people 
must do their bidding. The next day another 



142 THE DIARY OF 

headman arrived with the same story, then another 
and another. 

It seemed that our twenty blackguards, having 
police overcoats and hats similar to those worn by 
the Native Commissioner's police, had made the most 
of their opportunity. One of them had stolen a 
piece of red limbo to make puggaries, thereby com- 
pleting the resemblance ; then they had returned to 
their own kraals, fetched their guns, commandeered 
piccannins to carry their blankets, and started off 
on the glorious career of the blackmailer. Instead 
of finding labour for us, they were doing our business 
untold injury. 

We took the only possible step. We enlisted 
another twenty, without uniform, to pursue the 
first lot, to discredit them with the kraal natives, 
and, if practicable, to bring them back captives, 
at anyrate to take their uniforms from them. This 
proved rather a long job, and cost us several pounds 
in wages ; but in the end we recovered nearly all 
the uniforms, though no prisoners were brought 
back. However, the following season, the whole 
of the twenty reappeared at different times, request- 
ing to be taken on again as '* they had worked for 
us before." There is something rather fine about 
the impudence of a Mashona. 

Labour agents' work, carried on from a distance 
as in our case, does not pay, despite the seemingly 
high fees. The reason is this — camped on the main 
footpath, a few miles from every big mine, you will 
find a German or a Hebrew, or, more likely, a com- 
bination of the two, whose mission in life is to 
intercept your gang of boys, to take away the note 
you have given them, and then himself to conduct 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 143 

them to the mine, as his own discoveries, and to 
draw the capitation fees on them. Is it wonderful 
that we used to rejoice when we heard of lancers 
spitting Teutons on their lances during the Boer 
War? 

Perhaps the most notable point about our trading 
business was that it led to our being the fathers of 
the Rhodesian tobacco industry, which is now be- 
coming quite an important factor in the progress 
of the country. We started trading tobacco from 
the natives — the picked rolls cost us an average of 
fourpence per pound — and we used to take from a 
thousand to fifteen hundred pounds' weight back 
with us at the end of each season. A Bulawayo 
firm made us a standing offer of one and ninepence 
a pound for all we could deliver, and I believe they 
did very well over it at that price. Up till then, 
no one would buy Rhodesian-grown tobacco ; but 
our stuff became so popular that white men began 
growing it for themselves. Nowadays, I always 
smoke their products, which have, at least, the 
merit of being unadulterated. But I still look in 
vain for the " Chivamba Brand." 



CHAPTER XIV 

The beginning of the rubber adventure was curious. 
Three Portuguese boys came up to the store, spent 
all their money, sold us all their curios, and begged 
as much more as we were inclined to give. In 
cases like these, when our customers had come 
several days' march — in this instance fifteen days — 
they could always have food and shelter for the 
night, for two or three nights if they wanted it. 
These particular boys stayed the night, fed till 
they could hold no more, slept, and doubtless 
dreamt of evil spirits ; but, in the morning, having 
remembered some special beads they wanted, they 
came up to the store hut, and asked me if I would 
buy some ''candles." I had a look at the latter, 
queer black little things, about the size of a man's 
middle finger, soft and sticky, with a wick, or rather 
a core, of a kind of fibrous twig. I lighted one, 
caught a whiff of its smell, then called Amyas. It 
was undoubtedly rubber. We bought the lot, cut 
them open, examined them, stretched them out, then 
demanded details as to whence they had come. 

The savages were not very communicative. It 
was N'Dande, and it came from the N'Dandine, 
literally the "place of the N'Dande." Where was 
the N'Dandine ? It was far, very far, many days' 
march beyond M'Khati, the "place between the 
rivers," when the Sabi and the Lundi joined. 
What was the N'Dande ? The strangers shook 
their heads. It was a bad thing, which brought 

144 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 145 

trouble on the people, an accursed thing, which 
brought the Portuguese down into the jungle, with 
soldiers and police, who forced the people to work 
collecting N'Dande, beat them, even killed some, 
yet paid nothing for labour. N'Dande was bad, 
all through, and before they left it was obvious 
that our informants regretted having mentioned 
it at all. 

We had three stores going then, Chivamba's, a 
grain-trading station in Mabouka's hills, forty miles 
from Victoria, and a little place at Thomas', a tiny 
kraal sixty miles beyond Chivamba's, where we sold 
for cash only. Yet there happened to be a lull in 
trade, and we had some good niggers capable of 
seeing to things during our absence ; so Amyas 
and I decided to go away as soon as possible in 
search of the N'Dande ; obviously, there was money 
in the thing. We had learned already that the 
rubber came from the Landolphia creeper, and the 
first matters to decide, before applying to the 
Portuguese for a concession, were how plentiful 
were those creepers and what was the chance of 
discovering a large area suitable for cultivation. 

Even now, I look back on that first Sabi expedi- 
tion with a certain degree of annoyance. We 
bungled it so badly. The ground was, of course, 
entirely new to white men ; we had no maps to 
guide us, no idea of the country to be crossed, at 
least after leaving our store at Thomas' ; and yet 
we ought not to have under-estimated both the 
distances and the difficulties In the way we did. I, 
at least, had been out sufficiently long to know 
better. 

Properly speaking, we ought never to have started 



146 THE DIARY OF 

at all that year. We were very short of stores at 
Chivamba's, white men's food, I mean ; but there 
was no time to send into Victoria ; so we decided 
to go with what we had got and to chance the 
rest. Eight carriers were sufficient for our stuff, 
eight rather poor specimens they turned out to 
be, for when, in accordance with our plan, we tried 
to make them hurry, they went sick and footsore 
at once. 

Our plan was to follow the Lundi down to its 
junction with the Sabi, cross into Portuguese terri- 
tory there, and push on rapidly until we found 
approximately where the rubber jungle lay ; then 
to come back as quickly, before the rains could cut 
us off, and to take down a proper expedition the 
following year to explore the district thoroughly. 
The first sixty miles' stretch was a simple matter ; 
we knew every foot of the path, and it was merely 
a question of standing a certain amount of physical 
and mental weariness to get through. Beyond 
this, there was no trouble. The stage took three 
and a half days. We slept the fourth night at our 
store above Thomas' kraal, and from there our 
real difficulties began. Thomas' itself consisted of 
a score of very dilapidated grass huts in a rubbish- 
strewn clearing amongst the mopani scrub. At the 
back of the village rose a huge kopje, almost a 
miniature tableland, one of the very few landmarks 
in that level bush veld. It was on the top of this 
that we had built our store, a couple of huts on the 
very edge of a three-hundred-feet precipice, at the 
foot of which was the sandy bed of the Lundi, nearly 
half-a-mile wide at this point. There were baobabs 
and fever-trees and aloes, baboons innumerable. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 147 

and, of course, a corresponding proportion of 
leopards to live on the baboons, jackals and wild 
cats in legions ; but, in addition to these, Thomas' 
kopje, or the M'Bendese, to give it its proper name, 
had a weird variety of lesser and unclassified schelm, 
or semi-schelm. The boys in charge of the store 
used to set gin-traps on every footpath ; sometimes 
they caught one of Thomas' boys and apologised ; 
sometimes they caught one of those weird schelm 
and ate it. I saw only the skins. I believe some 
of them were ratels or aard-varks — at least I have 
heard so since — but we used to class them all as 
snarks, and I do not think we were very far wrong. 
I believe there is a fine selection of unknown 
animals still to be discovered in the low veld. 

From our store huts on Thomas' kopje we 
obtained a splendid view over the country we had 
got to traverse, apparently a vast sea of grey bush, 
with hardly a kopje to break its horrible sameness. 
They told us the Portuguese border was two days' 
walk away. Of course, they lied, being natives. 
It was at least five days' heavy going, through the 
most appalling country, dense bush all the way, and 
very rough underfoot. Moreover, the day we left 
Thomas' we got the " itch " for the first time. I 
never met another white man who had been down in 
that veld to catch the abominable complaint, or one 
who had caught it elsewhere. 

I imagine it is something peculiar to the district, 
for we developed it each time we passed through 
from Thomas' to the border. It begins with a 
slight irritation on the inner side of the upper arm ; 
that is the first night ; the second night the irrita- 
tion is violent ; the third night you want to scratch 



148 THE DIARY OF 

your whole skin away. Yet there are no outward 
and visible signs, no rash of any sort, whilst it 
ceases altogether during the day. We tried various 
remedies, internal and external ; all the former 
failed completely ; whilst of the latter, lard, rubbed 
in well, was the only one which gave any relief. 
Really, the best plan was to strip, and let the cold 
night air get at you, to lie outside your blankets. 
Certainly it was chilly, unpleasantly so ; but any- 
thing was preferable to that most appalling itch. 

They could sell us no meal for our carriers at 
Thomas'. Their crops had failed — as most South 
African crops do— and they had only just enough 
to last them through till the new crop was in ; but 
on beyond Thomas' they had not even that. All 
we could get was beans and a queer little flat seed 
called runinga, and those two furnished the staple 
diet of our boys, and afterwards of ourselves, until 
we got back to Chivamba's. Of course, we shot 
any amount of guinea-fowl and such buck as we 
could get without going off our path ; but the 
native, and the white man, too, for that matter, is 
not a carnivorous animal ; meat to the Kaffir is 
merely a flavouring for other food, and he would 
die of starvation if you gave him meat alone for a 
month. Nor does the Kaffir fancy beans and 
runinga as a regular diet ; those also are only 
flavourings. Consequently, as day after day went 
by and we could get no meal, our boys grew weak 
and sulky. 

We had taken all the flour there was in the camp 
for our own use ; but it did not amount to much, 
and, before we even reached the border, it was 
looking like running short. It was then that we 






. *,"^%^ 




-.J^^^^^'^^lf^^i ' 



L& 




A MASHONA KRAAL. 




SOMIC OK OIK i"otj.o\vi:rs. 



" A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 149 

invented the runinga cookie. The process of manu- 
facture is simple. You take half and half of flour 
and pounded runinga, knead the mixture up into a 
stiff brown dough, roll this out into the thinnest 
possible biscuits, and bake the latter on a gridiron. 
The result may be an acquired taste, but we grew 
to like it so much that we constantly had the 
same sort of cookies made even when flour was 
plentiful. 

From one cause or another, delays through boys 
being sick, turning off the direct path in the hope 
of finding food, and uncertainty as to water ahead, 
we were twelve days in reaching the border. I 
think the last fifty miles of the journey is the worst 
piece of country I know. True, it has the merit of 
being level, if you can apply such a term to a stretch 
of veld in which there is a steep little donga every 
hundred yards, but the ground underfoot is horribly 
rough and stony, whilst the grey, monotonous 
desolation of the scrub is simply indescribable. 
When you do reach the end of your trek, the kraal 
by the water hole consists of three or four hope- 
lessly dilapidated huts, inhabited by savages so 
apathetic that, though most of them have never seen 
a white man before, they cannot manage to evince 
the slightest interest in you. When they see your 
party filing in, they merely turn their heads for a 
moment, then go on with their favourite occupation 
of staring at the few smouldering sticks round 
which they are squatting. Ask them for meal, 
and they will mumble out that they themselves are 
starving ; ask where the next water hole is, and you 
v/ill learn that it is " douzi-katchan," " near and yet 
far " ; ask for the headman, and, though he himself 



150 THE DIARY OF 

is probably answering you, you will be told that he 
has gone on a very long journey ; ask where their 
cattle are, and then you will hear the truth — the 
lions have forced them to give up keeping cattle. 

There is one place on that path where any man 
who was not quite sure of his own nerve might settle 
the question, once and for all, merely by spending 
a night in it. I forget its name, in fact I do not 
think we ever knew it by any other than that 
of " The Schelm Water " ; but for those who wish to 
find it, and shoot schelm generally, I may say it is 
ten miles west of M'Khati, on the path leading 
to N'Hlosi's kraal. We ourselves discovered the 
place ; but, for my part, I am not selfishly anxious 
to keep the knowledge of it to myself. Anyone can 
go there ; though I could not guarantee the visitor's 
return. 

Nowadays, I expect that all you would see would 
be a rather ordinary-looking spruit, with mopani 
scrub coming down to within fifty yards of its banks 
and one or two small kopjes a little way below the 
crossing. When we first struck the spot, however, 
there were the ruins of a fair-sized village on the 
western bank, though of these nothing would now 
remain, save the big ash heap. The borers and the 
white ants will have seen to the rest, long before 
this. 

We got to the Schelm Water after sundown, and 
we camped down, right away, without troubling 
about anything in the nature of a scherm. For 
Amyas and myself there was, of course, the comfort- 
ing knowledge that the lions would not worry about 
us until they had finished with our nine boys, whilst 
the fact that we had seen no game and heard no 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 151 

schelm for the last forty-eight hours was in itself 
reassuring. So we ate runinga cookies, beans and 
cold guinea-fowl, and then we rolled ourselves up in 
our blankets, practically on the bank of the spruit. 
I remember that the itch was not as bad as usual that 
night, and we went to sleep quite early. But we did 
not sleep long. About nine o'clock an indescribable 
noise suddenly arose from the nearest of the kopjes, 
the barking of scores of baboons mingled with a 
savage growling. A couple of leopards had tried 
their luck amongst the Mashona's cousins, and had 
failed. The natural result was that the leopards 
came along to us, not seeking sympathy but a feed. 
We never saw them, but we heard them in the 
spruit, and began to heave flaming brands as a hint 
that we were not at home to them. For an hour 
or two, they remained within a few hundred yards, 
then we heard them no more. 

About eleven o'clock a hysena came along, a 
brute with a peculiarly offensive voice. He made a 
circuit of the camp six times, jodelling as he went, 
but on the seventh round a charge of shot gave 
him an ugly shock, and though, in all probability, 
he was not injured, but merely stung, he found he 
had important business elsewhere. Then once more 
we lay down to sleep. 

It must have been an hour or so later when the 
next alarm came. The lion who caused it was at 
least a mile away, travelling along the crest of the 
last ridge we had crossed ; but when he roared the 
whole party sat up in its blankets, rather suddenly. 
Not that we were troubling about the noisy lion, 
he would not come our way ; it was his silent partner 
to whom he was driving the game, who was worry- 



152 THE DIARY OF 

ing us, for, according to the direction of the wind, 
that same partner would be somewhere in our 
neighbourhood. 

He, or, as it turned out to be, she, arrived before 
long, with her family, and took up her position 
about fifteen yards from us, just behind a little 
knoll. I have not the slightest idea what her 
object was. She stayed there till an hour before 
dawn, growling occasionally. We could hear her 
cubs sucking and quarrelling amongst themselves ; 
but she never made any move in our direction, nor 
did we in hers. I know a man in a book, or even 
a sportsman from Home, would have shot the lot, 
possibly with only one discharge of his breath ; but 
we were out hunting rubber, not lions ; and, more- 
over, the night, besides being dark, was very misty. 
So we got right down into our blankets, and hoped 
that, if any of the niggers had to go, it would be 
the cook boy, who had recently spilt half our slender 
stock of tea. 

In the end, the lioness went, having done no harm 
to anything but our nerves. The list of visiting 
schelm was, however, not yet complete. A leopard, 
probably the same one as before, had a walk round 
at a safe distance, purring out blessings on us ; 
three hyaenas took up their position amongst the 
ruins of the huts, and told us something, possibly 
how glad they were to see us ; and then, just as 
dawn was breaking, we heard a pack of wild dogs 
pulling down a buck at the bottom of the vlei. That 
day, I must admit, I did welcome the smiling morn, 
and so, I think, did our carriers. We reached 
M'KhatI, the border kraal, at noon, and then we 
learned that the village at the Schelm Water had 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 153 

been abandoned because the lions had taken sixteen 
natives out of it in six weeks — a truly cheerful 
spot. 

At M'Khati, we got the first definite news of the 
situation of the rubber jungle. Everyone agreed 
that it was at least a week's journey farther on — 
which meant ten days, or twenty days there and 
back, allowing no time for actual exploring work. 
We both wanted to go on, having come so far ; but 
then we looked at our tired, half-starved carriers 
and our own slender stock of food stuffs, and we 
reckoned up, roughly, what day of what month it 
was, and how long we had before the rains would 
bring the rivers down in flood, and so cut us off 
from Victoria. The thing could not be done. 
There was no use jibbing at facts, and declaring 
that, because we had never turned back yet, we 
never would turn back. We had made a mess of 
the trip, and the only safe plan was to return to 
Chivamba's, and come down again next year, 
earlier in the season, with more stores and more 
carriers. 

We got back to the kopje country more quickly 
than we had come down, possibly because we knew 
the path and the water holes, possibly because we 
were growing really hungry, and we believed that 
the wagons should already have arrived at 
Chivamba's with some decent food stuffs. It is 
curious how, in South Africa, everything seems 
to resolve itself down to a mere question of eating 
and drinking, unmitigated animalism. Culture and 
comfort do not enter into any man's calculations, 
as neither has ever been known in the sub- 
continent. 



CHAPTER XV 

The failure of the first rubber hunt did not discourage 
us. The stuff was there, and we were going to get 
a concession from the Portuguese to work it. True, 
it is derogatory to a white man's dignity to ask per- 
mission of a Portuguese or any other nasty Dago ; 
but European nations have, in their idiocy, recog- 
nised the Mozambique territory as Portuguese, and 
so decent people must make the best of it. 

I was pretty rotten with fever at the end of that 
season, so rotten in fact that Dr Williams in Victoria 
told me I must get out of Rhodesia and keep out. 
Poor Williams, one of the kindest-hearted and most 
optimistic men who ever lived, he believed in his 
own luck, believed that the boom was shortly 
coming in Victoria, and yet, in the end, the fever 
got him, and the boom has not yet come. 

Most of my old friends have gone. That is the 
worst of pioneering work ; you cannot look back on 
the past with pleasure, because of the ghosts which 
flit before your vision. Nine incidents out of ten 
have but a melancholy interest for you, because the 
other man who was with you is dead. If you are 
lucky — is it luck after all ? — you come Home and try 
to pick up the old threads, the old interests ; but, 
somehow, you are terribly lonely, and unless a 
woman, the One Woman, the Good Comrade, 
comes into your life, not to fill the void, but to 
compensate you for it, you will drift back to the 
frontier, to go under as did the other fellows. I 

154 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 155 

have been one of the fortunate ones, thanks to my 
Good Comrade ; but had she not married me, had 
she not taken the risk she did in Hnking her life to 
that of an unsuccessful son of Ishmael, I should long 
since have been back on the frontier, killing time 
until the Inevitable happened. 

I suppose the game is not worth the candle after 
all. When I look back and remember the splendid 
men who have gone, the very pick of the men I 
have known, and I compare them with the men I 
know now, it seems such a ghastly shame, such an 
abominable waste. The educated men I meet now 
boast of how many tame pheasants they have killed, 
or how many times they have smitten a golf ball ; 
the other class finds its chief joy in watching salaried 
hooligans playing Association Football ; neither 
sort takes any risks, though, all the time, it is reap- 
ing the benefit from the work of those who did do 
so, men infinitely superior to it in every way. Some- 
how, I still feel lonely at times, because it seems as 
though I were one of the few survivors of a dying 
class. I cannot get into line with the people I meet 
to-day, and my old friends are now so few and so 
scattered that they hardly count. But still there is 
always the Good Comrade to keep me from brooding 
over the dead past, and the memory of the dead men 
of the past. 

I took Dr Williams' advice and started Home, 
leaving Amyas to run things. I had been five years 
in the wilderness then ; and I was shy as a wild cat 
when there were women about. 

The post cart took me as far as Enkeldoorn, 
which I found to be, as usual, on the burst, in a 
sodden, Boer way. I slept the night there, or, 



156 THE DIARY OF 

rather, I paid for a bed and spent the night killing 
its inhabitants, and at dawn next morning I was in 
the coach for Bulawayo. I will not attempt the 
impossible and describe a coach journey of thirty- 
six hours' duration. I can only say that it is even 
slower than a London County Council tram, and 
more jolting than a Chatham train ; that you some- 
times upset once a mile — I have known the coach 
turn over fourteen times in the eight-mile stage 
onwards from the Shangani Drift — and that the 
food in the wayside stores is as bad and as expen- 
sive as that you get in a railway refreshment-room. 
You pay five shillings for bully beef, baking powder 
bread, and coffee without milk or sugar. 

More than once, when I was riding transport on 
the Bulawayo-Salisbury road, I have found the 
coach stuck hopelessly in the mud, and hooked the 
mules out with a span of my bullocks, greatly to 
the satisfaction of both driver and passengers. I 
do not know whether we were right or no ; but, 
when a northward-bound coach overtook us, we 
always pulled out of its way — it was his Majesty's 
mail ; but for the south-bound coach we never 
budged, it was just the Chartered Company's post. 
It seems a horribly futile distinction nowadays, but 
it serves to show how we felt at that time. The war 
was still on, and, amongst Home-born men, feeling 
was running very strongly against the Chartered 
officials. Many of these were Afrikanders by birth, 
others had married Afrikander wives. Their loyalty 
had been suspected from the outset, and it was felt 
that, given a big Boer victory, they would declare 
themselves in favour of the old ideal — " Africa for 
the Afrikander." 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 157 

In Bulawayo I managed to get a pass to leave 
the country — the railway was, of course, under 
military control — and I was one of two passengers 
on a train consisting of one coach, a score of empty 
goods wagons, and an armoured truck with a long 
gun where the guards' van usually is. My fellow- 
passenger was E. J. Lawler, then the assistant 
magistrate in Bulawayo, afterwards our magistrate 
in Victoria, the most brilliant official the Chartered 
Company ever possessed, and had not the sense to 
retain. He was Home-born, therein lay his crime 
so far as the Tin Gods of Salisbury were concerned ; 
but I feel sure that, had the High Gods of London 
Wall known of his ability, they would never have 
let him drift away from their service. I have fought 
the Chartered Company on more than one occasion ; 
but as I have grown older, and possibly more sensible, 
so I have got to realise that the vast majority of 
the mistakes for which the London board has been 
blamed have been due to the fact that that same 
board has, of necessity, been dependent on the 
advice of its local officials. It is the latter, and the 
latter alone, who have gone so near to wrecking 
the company. 

Our train took its time. We were, altogether, 
six days and seven nights doing the thirteen 
hundred miles to Capetown. The reason for the 
delay was, of course, that our brother Boer was 
laying dynamite on the line, a playful practice 
which made travelling rather nervous work. For 
a couple of hundred miles they sent our train on 
ahead, with an armoured train following a mile 
behind. We were to draw the Boers' fire, so we 
were told, and the soldiers were then to hurry 



158 THE DIARY OF 

up with their Maxims and seven pounders and 
catch the brigands red-handed. It was a very 
nice arrangement — for the soldiers. 

Capetown was seething with disloyahy and 
bubonic plague — two diseases you would naturally 
expect to find there — and I quitted it gladly. 
Then the change came. You must live at least 
five years on the veld to understand what it means 
to shake that most abominable dust of South Africa 
off your feet, and get back to your own people, 
to dress for dinner, and eat food which does not 
seem to taste of the smoke from a cow-dung fire. 
You do not look back at all ; you are looking 
forward, towards the white man's land, which is 
always Home to every decent man. And yet 
when you get Home, when, as in my case, you 
land in a fog, which wraps round you and brings 
out the latent malaria, goads those abominable 
microbes into a most detestable state of energy, 
you think of the veld, where the air is clear and 
clean, you hear the guinea-fowl calling in the 
mealie fields, the jolting of the wagon as it pulls 
off the outspan into the road, the thud of the 
bullet striking flesh which tells you that the buck 
is hit — you hear these, and you forget the fever 
and the thirst and the starvation, the niggers and 
the Afrikanders, the bad food and the worse liquor, 
and you long to go back to Africa, the country 
where men seek for wealth, and usually find a 
grave. 

In London I made the preliminary arrange- 
ments for obtaininor a rubber concession in the 
Mozambique territory, and I picked up another 
young brother, Kenneth, to come out and help 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 159 

us with the business, which seemed to be growing 
too bigvfor Amyas and myself to manage. I was 
at home four months altogether, and just before 
I left I received a curious offer and a curious 
commission. The latter, which was a concrete 
thing — I received a cheque for fifty pounds down 
for it — was to report on a copper mine near 
Macequece. As my route out led me to Mace- 
quece itself, I was glad enough to go. The job 
occupied me in all three days, so the pay was 
good enough. My instructions were to send a 
written report ; but so convinced was I of the 
comparative worthlessness of the mine — it was 
totally undeveloped and its value was absolutely 
problematical — that, fearing the syndicate employ- 
ing me would perhaps be bluffed into converting 
its option into an actual purchase, I cabled from 
Macequece, at my own expense : " Suspend purchase 
pending receipt of my report." The report was 
absolutely damnatory. I never received an ac- 
knowledgment of it, although the addressee after- 
wards admitted having received it — as he was 
bound to, it having been registered ; and I found 
subsequently that it had been ignored, and the 
property floated as " The Manica Copper Company 
Limited." If anyone is curious to know whether, 
on that occasion, I was in the right, let him ask 
one of the shareholders in the company, or study 
the Stock Exchange quotations. There was 
nothing to float, beyond the mining rights of a 
bare hill, on the crest of which was a large, 
copper - stained boulder. Still, the great fool 
public subscribed the capital ; and I suppose, 
after all, if it had not done so, it would have 



160 THE DIARY OF 

wasted its money in some other equally futile 
way. 

The offer I got just before I left England was 
a strange one. I had been writing some articles 
for a financial daily — which, by the way, still owes 
me for them — and through these I had come into 
contact with a certain famous firm of South African 
financiers ; Hebrews, certainly, but very decent 
people. I will not give their name, for obvious 
reasons, but the concern is amongst the richest 
in the City of London. I had proposed some 
transaction to them, which they had duly declined ; 
and I had already booked passages to Beira for 
Kenneth and myself, when I received a letter 
asking me to come up and see one of the partners 
on the following day. 

I went up, wondering, and the proposition made 
to me fully justified my wonder. I was told that 
Cecil Rhodes, in conjunction with this firm, was 
about to send a large expedition up to Central 
Africa, to take possession of some richly mineral- 
ised area. The people with whom I was dealing 
were making it a condition that the man in com- 
mand of the practical side of things, the pioneering, 
transport, and road-making, should be an English- 
man born, and they had picked me for the 
job. I pointed out that I had a large business I 
could not afford to leave, and they retorted that 
they themselves would not only buy the business, 
but would also take on my brothers, as my assist- 
ants. With regard to details, they could not settle 
those without consulting Rhodes, and, as I was 
going out anyway, we arranged that I should 
meet the latter in Capetown, and fix up matters 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 161 

finally. Accordingly, Kenneth and I sailed ; and 
when I reached Capetown I heard that Cecil 
Rhodes was dead, and the whole scheme had 
fallen to the ground. Since then, I have often 
speculated as to what there was in the thing, 
what the real objective could have been. 

Rhodes being dead, we went on to Beira, intend- 
ing to go up to Macequece, and make our way from 
there to Chivamba's. There was, of course, martial 
law all along the coast, and, for some inscrutable 
reason, Beira passengers were regarded as sus- 
picious personages, possibly because, through the 
other ports being jealous of the growing trade 
of the Portuguese towns, people had spread and 
fostered the idea that none but madmen, criminals 
or very desperate characters wanted to go to 
Delagoa Bay and Beira. Still, we got through, 
after a delay of a fortnight in that most detest- 
able of South African towns, Durban. 

You must know Beira to realise it — I will not 
say to appreciate it, for no man ever succeeded in 
doing that. The town, tin-roofed and sweltering, 
stands on a little sandspit which juts out from 
a mangrove-circled bay, into which the yellow 
Pungwe River flows with muddy deliberation. 
Sand, mangrove swamps and galvanised iron — 
those are the main constituents of Beira. The 
streets are merely loose beach shingle, into which 
you sink ankle-deep at every step. Wheeled traffic 
is impossible, walking is equally so ; but the diffi- 
culty is solved by little, narrow-gauge car lines, on 
which every white resident runs his own nigger- 
pushed truck. 

Beira is frankly, undisguisedly wicked. It makes 



162 THE DIARY OF 

no pretence at morality, but, at the same time, 
it sins in a light-hearted, southern manner which 
northern nations can never imitate. It is intoler- 
ably, abominably hot, as well as indescribably un- 
healthy, and perhaps its excuse lies therein. Not 
that it tries to excuse itself. It has long since 
passed that point. Every second building is a bar, 
and every bar is something a good deal worse. 
The vice of Biera is open, clamorous and, above 
all, cosmopolitan. With the exception of the small 
British community, white clad and unutterably 
weary, the white inhabitants form a perfect collection 
of samples of polyglot rascality, male and female. 
East and West, North and South have sent specimens 
of their very worst to that sultry little Gehenna on 
the shores of the Indian Ocean. Most men spend 
more than half their day's earnings before breakfast 
in pick-me-ups, trying to neutralise the effects of 
that ghastly climate, and, incidentally, making those 
effects far worse. They drink absinthe there, mix- 
ing it with soda. That is the first drink of the 
day ; afterwards they go on with whisky. They 
told me in Beira — I will not vouch for the truth of 
the story — that the most prosperous man in the 
place was the Anglican parson, who demanded two 
guineas, payable in advance, for every funeral he 
conducted. At anyrate, he got plenty of work. 

When Amyas landed in Beira, there was a score 
or so of passengers, and the guileless Portuguese 
Collector of Customs suggested that, if each 
Englishman would contribute half-a-crown, his 
official sense of honour would allow him to pass 
in the baggage unopened. They contributed, 
without further parley. On the other hand, when 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 163 

Kenneth and I landed, we were the only passengers, 
and the whole customs staff attended to us. We 
put bribes into at least a dozen dirty hands ; but 
still the clearance fees on our luggage amounted to 
two pounds fifteen, despite the fact that we smuggled 
through a couple of new Cogswell & Harrison 
rifles. I suppose I am prejudiced, and yet no man 
has ever adduced any good grounds why I should 
love a Portuguese to the extent of paying his out- 
rageous impositions. 

We went up to Macequece, slowly, as is the way 
of the Beira railways, stopping whenever steam 
ran short, or the driver felt tired, and once because 
a gauger was lying dead in a hut and his boy 
wanted to know whether the white men had a coffin 
left for his baas. For once — and it rarely happened 
so — the supply of coffins exceeded the demand, and 
the guard promised that one should be sent down 
speedily, before the hyaenas broke into the place 
and obviated the necessity of burial. I daresay that 
nowadays the Beira railway is quite a normal 
institution, that its employees die decently, of 
zymotic diseases, and are buried by a duly ordained 
priest ; but at that time they usually died alone and 
unattended, unless, by chance, Father Ronchi, the 
Jesuit, that finest of priests and bravest of gentle- 
men, the one man who was never asked for a ticket 
on the Beira railway, happened to hear of their 
plight, and hurried down. If Rhodesia ever has a 
Pantheon, dedicated to its heroes, Father Ronchi, 
the little old Italian with the little tin church at 
Umtali, will come very near the head of the list. 
He was — I trust he is still alive for me to be able 
to say "he is" — perfectly fearless and perfectly 



164 A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 

unselfish, the truest servant of his Master I ever 
had the privilege of meeting. 

In Beira I had practically arranged the matter of 
the concession with the Portuguese — they were to 
give us five thousand hectares — roughly, twenty 
square miles — for plantation purposes, and the 
right of collecting virgin rubber over another five 
thousand hectares. The terms were very reason- 
able, and the only thing remaining was to select 
our plantation area. Our idea was that I should 
take Kenneth across country to Chivamba's, where 
Amyas was already, teach him the rudiments of the 
business, then go back to the Sabi country with 
Amyas and investigate the rubber question. 

When we left Capetown, despite Rhodes' death, 
the prospect seemed bright ; but by the time we 
reached Macequece they were as black as possible. 
A new cattle disease had broken out, and, as the 
largest cattle traders in Mashonaland, the outlook 
for us was the reverse of pleasant. Cattle were 
dying by thousands, and already it was whispered 
that the Rhodesian Government intended to take 
no steps to stop the disease, that Rhodes' death 
had demoralised the Stock Exchange to such an 
extent that the officials in Salisbury dare not re- 
cognise the existence of a new plague, and, conse- 
quently, were going to ignore it utterly, trusting to 
the guardian angel of idiots, their patron saint, to 
see them through safely. Still, we had the rubber 
adventure in view ; and, even though our cattle 
might be doomed — and it hurt terribly to think 
that those brave, faithful animals might have to 
go under — we had the prospect of saving something 
out of the wreck, if we got our concession. 



CHAPTER XVI 

We found Amyas at Chivamba's store, very well, 
but very bored. He had not spoken to a white 
man for three months ; and he had long since got 
through his stock of reading matter. He knew of 
the cattle disease, and reckoned, as I did, that it 
would spread right through the country, having 
been allowed too good a start ; yet, prior to the 
outbreak, his profits in Chivamba's store alone — 
and we then had four stores — had been two hundred 
and sixteen pounds for a single month. 

The disease, of course, stopped all trade. There 
is no sense in buying cattle which are bound to die, 
and if we paid no money to the natives for their 
beasts they could not buy trading stuff from us. 
So we decided that Kenneth should stay at 
Chivamba's with a young Afrikander to help him, 
whilst Amyas and I went once more in search of 
the rubber. 

This time we intended to do things properly. 
We had got a fair idea of the task before us, and 
we meant to go through with it. Looking back on 
it now, the venture seems to me to have been a 
little risky. To begin with, our base, Chivamba's, 
was eighty miles from civilisation, which also meant 
from a doctor, and our objective was, at least, 
two hundred and fifty miles farther on, through 
absolutely unexplored country, country which, more- 
over, we knew must be absolutely rotten with 
malaria microbes. Then, we could not take an 
165 



166 THE DIARY OF 

armed force. The natives in the Portuguese 
territory were, we knew, infinitely more warlike 
than our Mashona and M'Hlengwi carriers, and 
could have eaten up our boys if they wanted so to 
do. The Portuguese can only go down into the 
jungle with a small army at their back, and, even 
then, they do not get very far, being wise, and 
knowing the qualities of a poisoned arrow ; but we 
were going to chance that side of the matter, 
trusting to the prestige of the British name. 

If we had come to grief down in that jungle, no 
one would ever have learned any details. Our 
carriers, if not killed by the local heathen, would 
have slunk home, holding their tongues, fearing 
to be charged with our deaths. We should not 
have come back — that would have been all ; and 
the Portuguese would not have troubled to avenge 
us, hating Englishmen in their hearts, knowing 
Englishmen to be white, and not, like themselves, 
libels on the European races. 

We had a good supply of stores on which to 
draw when we started eastwards the second time. 
On the other hand, the fear of famine made us 
keep our number of carriers down to the minimum, 
and we left behind whatever was not absolutely 
essential. We took tea, coffee, sugar, flour, salt 
and pepper, about ten pounds of bacon and a 
ham, some sago and rice, but no tinned meats. 
Our armoury consisted of a double 500-bore 
Express, black powder, which Amyas used ; my 
400-bore cordite Express ; an old 12-bore shot- 
gun which I had bought, shop-soiled, from the 
Army and Navy Stores for five pounds six years 
previously ; it was still as good as new, despite 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 167 

the hardest of usage, and is probably in use to- 
day ; and two Tower muskets belonging to two of 
the carriers. In addition to these, each carrier 
had assegais, and one or two carried battle-axes 
as well. 

When we started, we had no idea how long the 
quest of the rubber would take us. We told our 
boys we should be three months, and engaged 
them on that understanding, although we knew 
that, once we were in the Portuguese territory, 
they would stick to us until we brought them back, 
fearing the local natives, their hereditary foes. I, 
myself, thought that five weeks should suffice, as it 
never occurred to us that the local savages would 
have any reason for denying the existence of the 
rubber creepers. We imagined that the offer of 
a decent reward would make them eager to show 
us every Landolphia in the neighbourhood; but 
therein we were altogether wrong. 

I have two records of the trip, one kept by Amyas, 
one by myself. As these were written from day 
to day, actually on the spot, with no idea of publica- 
tion, but merely as letters to our mother, they give 
a pretty accurate account of things. On the other 
hand, the fact that these diaries had to go overland 
by runners for nearly three hundred miles, which 
involved a considerable risk of their falling into 
the wrong hands, made us omit anything which 
might be considered compromising. For instance, 
the diaries do not relate that, when we heard of 
the Portuguese official at M'Kupi's having some 
three thousand pounds' worth of rubber, we decided, 
if possible, to capture his stuff, and to leave him for 
the local savages to deal with. He was, at best, a 



168 THE DIARY OF 

Dago slave-raider, and there was a long account to 
be settled between the jungle-folk and his kind. 
We missed him by a couple of days, however, and, 
as our scheme had failed, we thought it wiser not 
to mention that we had even tried it. Now, how- 
ever, it is different. I have not the slightest objec- 
tion to confessing things in this book ; although, 
I fancy, there will be some who will charge me 
with having left a good deal unconfessed. 

I know that, during the Boer War, it was often 
whispered by men who were jealous of our success 
that the cattle we were constantly sending in for 
sale were not bought from the natives at all, 
but had been looted by us and a little band of 
Mashona brigands in the Northern Transvaal. 
The only foundation for the tale was the fact that 
we should have done so if we could, and that, when 
we heard of the proposed Boer trek through 
Eastern Mashonaland to the German territory, we 
did enlist a number of natives provisionally to help 
us cut off some of the Boers' cattle, our idea being 
to get those by the Lundi Drift on the old Pioneer's 
Road, and drive them away through a certain pass 
in the hills. The spirit was willing, I admit 
that, but the opportunity never came. Again, in 
Bulawayo, we thought of going down to Tuli in 
search of Boer cattle ; but were prevented by the 
authorities, who seemed strangely solicitous about 
the welfare of their Boer brethren, possibly because 
they foresaw the time when those same Boers would 
be brought up to ruin those dangerously independent 
folk, the loyal transport riders. 

Amyas' diary is written more fully than mine and 
gives by far the better picture of the jungle. Still 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 169 

I will quote from both. He wrote on 22nd June 
1902 : 

"We left the station, Chivamba's, at two o'clock 
yesterday afternoon, and, after taking the wrong 
footpath, and then losing that, we finally arrived at 
a dirty little M'Hlengwi kraal just after sunset, 
having covered fourteen miles. A hyaena turned 
up in the night, and lifted up his voice, which was, 
by the way, an unusually cheerful one, as though 
he knew that the strychnine bottle had been left 
behind. I fancy we shall hear many of his brethren 
before we get back. 

" I am writing this In a Kaffir garden, where we 
have stopped for breakfast. We have come eight 
miles this morning. Stanley has just shot a guinea- 
fowl, which will come in handy to-morrow morning. 

" We have eighteen carriers, nine Mashona and 
nine M'Hlengwi and MaTchangana. Fourteen of 
them are dressed in old Metropolitan Police over- 
coats, three have velveteen jackets, and the last, a 
piccannin, has an old dress shirt, worn back to front. 
He is known, for short, as M'Bumvana, 'the little 
red thing.'" 

That night I wrote : *' We are camped on the bank 
of the Tcheredzi River. We waded it two hours 
ago, and could go no farther on account of the 
scarcity of water. A dreary spot, low bush and 
small trees scattered about a desert of yellow, 
tangled grass. The river bed is broad, though at 
this season the stream is confined to a deep, narrow 
channel. There is hippo spoor everywhere. But 
for the way in which those great brutes have beaten 
down the reeds we should never have got through at 
all. 



170 THE DIARY OF 

" Our boys are distinctly nervous on the score of 
lions, and are wasting a great deal of energy in 
making a thorn scherm. 

" There is something infinitely depressing, some- 
thing indescribably sad, in the whole atmosphere of 
this part. The waste and desolation, the utter use- 
lessness of the country to white man or Kaffir, these 
come home to you at the end of a long march. 
What was it all made for, save perhaps to be the 
grave of restless fools like ourselves ? " 

The following day, after tramping fourteen miles 
across a most ghastly stretch of burnt veld, we had 
to stop again on account of water. I wTote that 
night : " It is the old, sickening story — no water 
ahead near enough for us to reach before dark. 
This kraal, N'Tambandiro's, is like most others in 
the bush veld, a dozen dilapidated huts, their thatches 
untidy and smoke-grimed, and all around them that 
wonderful collection of litter in which the soul of 
the Kaffir rejoices. To the east is the smoke of a 
huge grass fire, in some places rising in black 
columns, elsewhere hanging in a dense black cloud, 
obscuring the horizon. To-morrow we shall have 
to cross that newly burned stretch, and get choked 
with ash and dust. Cheerful prospect." 

The fifth day out, Amyas headed his entry : 
" Fifteen miles from anywhere." He said : " We left 
N'Tambandiro's before sunrise yesterday, and about 
three miles out saw a few Rooi buck. Just as I was 
going to shoot they ran. Stanley and I followed a 
little apart. After going a few hundred yards I saw 
a silver jackal, and was wondering whether I should 
shoot it or no, when it trotted behind a bush, startling 
some partridges, which flew up with the usual amount 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 171 

of screeching. At the same moment the whole veld 
seemed to go up in the air. I had been so intent 
on the jackal that I had never noticed that I had got 
right amongst the troop of Rooi buck. Yet the trees 
were so thick that I never got a shot after all. I 
cursed that jackal. 

" After breakfast all the carriers had some of their 
wages knocked off for telling lies about the water 
the day before. We reached the kraal of Mahihi, 
the local chief, about three o'clock, made tea there, 
then went on to Selan's village, which proved to be 
only a mile distant. In the middle of this kraal was 
a post about four feet high, with a piece of blood- 
bespattered limbo round the middle of it, and a 
broken calabash and a cow-elephant's tusk at its 
foot. This arrangement, we were informed, was 
for the use of Selan's spirit, which resided in it, 
looking after the village, when Selan himself was 
in the fields. 

" We left the kraal early this morning, and about 
seven miles out I got the fever, or, rather, the fever 
came out. It is always in me. Stanley and four 
boys stayed with me, and I was able to go on in 
about three hours. But, oh, it was not nice walking 
when one felt so seedy and had no water ; and then 
this place turned out to be ten miles farther on. As 
for the veld, there are no words to describe it. 
* Thorns and Desolation ' is as near as I can get. 
As Stanley says, we have been having a lesson in 
the gentle art of being scratched. Everything has 
been grey to-day, grey thorns, grey grass, grey 
thorny ground and not a drop of water for seventeen 
miles. Now we are camped at a little oasis beside 
a good water hole. The place is famous for schelm 



172 THE DIARY OF 

of all sorts ; and we have made the boys fix up a 
novel sort of scherm, just a space large enough for 
the two of us, hollowed out in the middle of a clump 
of prickly palms, with a huge fire across the en- 
trance." 

On the 26th of June we were at our old camp 
where the lioness passed the night with us some 
months previously. We had not intended to stay 
there again ; but in the morning Aymas had shot 
a sable antelope bull. His first shot wounded it, 
and we had a long chase on the blood spoor before 
it was finally brought down by a hammered-iron 
slug out of the muzzleloader carried by one of 
our boys, who had got ahead of us on the trail. 
The skinning and cutting-up took some time and, 
in the end, we found ourselves compelled to stop 
at the schelm water. My entry for that night 
runs : " Yesterday, in spite of its being Coronation 
Day, proved tame and uneventful. We had a 
procession of our own, the usual order of march- 
ing. First a youngster, clad in a tattered and 
filthily dirty dress shirt, sleeveless, and worn back 
to front, carrying Amyas' rifle. Then Amyas, in 
a grey shirt and blue dungarees, bare-armed, with 
an old sombrero on his head ; next myself, much 
the same as Amyas, except that I had a long rifle ; 
after me, the cook boy, Jumbo, a big villain I had 
picked up in Macequece, carrying the bucket 
canteen and the shot - gun ; and trailing behind 
the long string of carriers, all with weapons of 
some sort. 

" Now, the camp reeks of freshly killed meat, and 
there are sure to be schelm round soon ; but we 
have a splendid lion-proof scherm to-night. The 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 173 

sides are made of brushwood and poles about ten 
feet high, and across the entrance is a huge fire, 
by the unpleasantly warm light of which I am 
trying to write this. The Mashona are nervous, 
and beginning to wish they had stayed at home. 
Unfortunately for them, they are only at the 
starting point of their troubles. They will be 
experts in schelm by the time they get back. If 
not, it will be because the schelm are experts in 
the flavour of Mashona. Still, as I told them just 
now, Mashona are very plentiful." 

In the end, we heard very little that night. 
Some beast wasted a good deal of time in sniffing 
round our scherm ; but, as nothing could get in, 
we did not worry to waste a charge of shot on 
him. The leopards and baboons were, as usual, 
having an argument on the kopje down the spruit ; 
whilst a couple of hyaenas sang to us from the 
site of the village out of which the lions had 
driven the people ; but that was all. We had both 
had touches of fever that day, so we were thankful 
not to be really disturbed. 

The following day we reached M'Khati, the 
border kraal, the limit of our former exploration. 
It is a beautiful spot, more like a vast park than 
anything else, whilst the village itself, which con- 
tains about a hundred huts, is far superior to any 
other I ever saw in Rhodesia. It really marks 
the beginning of the M'Tchangan country. All 
its inhabitants are M'Tchangana, of pure Zulu 
descent. We found that the headman was away, 
and his deputy was inclined to be insolent when 
we asked for meal for our boys. However, we 
soon brought him to his senses. 



174 THE DIARY OF 

The day we reached M'KhatI I shot a curious 
guinea - fowl, of a kind I have seen only in the 
Sabi jungles. The spots are very small, and of 
a bright electric - blue, on the head is a tuft of 
curling black feathers, whilst the eyes are a 
brilliant carmine. Unfortunately, though I tried 
to keep the skin of that and another I shot, the 
rats at Chivamba's ultimately ate them. 

It was curious how we both hated that low 
country. Of course, we were full of fever, and 
Amyas was often in an agony from toothache 
as well, though he tried to disguise the fact ; but 
I think it was the utter dreariness, rather than 
the climate, which told on us. I believe any other 
two men, save he and I, would have quarrelled 
savagely under the conditions. I know I could 
not have stood a different companion. Our nerves 
were gone. Not that we were afraid of dying 
down there — honestly I believe we never gave 
that a thought, for, had we done so, we should 
have turned back at the border — but we had got 
irritable and quick-tempered where the natives 
were concerned. We never carried revolvers — 
very few men do on the veld — but, had we pos- 
sessed them, I believe on more than one occasion 
we should have shot some of those lying brutes 
amongst whom we spent the next two months. 

The entry I made at M'Khati gives a good idea 
of how I was feeling. "We have reached the 
border kraal, seven days exactly from Chivamba's. 
I reckon the distance a hundred and eighteen miles ; 
but, considering the delays, and the fact that the 
boys are raw, I think we have not done so badly, 
after all — an average of sixteen and a half miles 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 175 

a day. I am never tired physically, I seem to 
have forgotten what that means, even when I am 
putrid with fever ; but I am unutterably weary of 
this eternal travelling. I wish I did get tired ; 
then I should get to sleep earlier. As it is, I 
lie awake in the evenings, long after everyone 
else has turned in ; and I get morbid and dis- 
gusted with everything. I am not really suffering 
from insomnia ; simply, I need very little sleep. 
I always wake in the mornings perfectly fresh, 
though for weeks I have not gone to sleep till 
long after midnight, nor been up later than dawn." 



CHAPTER XVII 

When we left Rhodesia and entered Portuo-uese 

o 

territory our real quest of the rubber creepers 
began. Our first intention had been to cross the 
Sabi at the nearest point to the kraal at M'Khati ; 
but, in the end, we crossed the Lundi instead, and 
followed down the south bank of the river. So far, 
the only member of our party who knew what the 
Landolphia creeper looked like was Jumbo, the 
cook boy. Neither we ourselves nor the carriers 
had ever seen it. Nor did we realise yet the diffi- 
culties ahead. We expected the jungle to be thick, 
and found it was impenetrable in most places ; we 
expected a large native population, and found a 
very small one ; we expected water to be plentiful, 
and found it extremely scarce ; above all, we ex- 
pected assistance from the local natives, and they 
put every possible obstacle in our way. 

It was not that we went out ill-prepared so far as 
information was concerned, because no information 
was obtainable. We had to chance our luck, that 
was all ; and when our luck was bad we could not 
blame ourselves. The rubber was " tagatewe," 
" accursed " — therein lay the trouble. The Portu- 
guese system of forced labour, slavery, if you will, 
had brought so much misery on the natives that 
they had decided to put to death any of their 
fellows who showed the white man a virgin belt of 
rubber. We loathed them for their lying ways 
then ; but I do not think we blamed them in our 

176 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 177 

hearts. They were following the instinct of self- 
preservation, and anything which tends to bring 
the Portuguese into a district must be accounted a 
misfortune. 

My first entry written in the Portuguese territory 
runs : 

" Twenty miles down the Sabi, Portuguese East 
Africa. 

** I am trying to write by the light of a wildly 
flickering candle, with mosquitoes making violent 
attacks on my ankles, rendering it a difficult matter 
to think of anything but swear-words. We have 
passed through some splendid scenery to-day. On 
the Rhodesian side it is like some vast English 
park, which has been left untended for years ; the 
only difference being that the grass is knee-deep 
and yellow, but this rather adds to the beauty, as 
it throws the green of the trees into strong relief. 

" On this side of the border, dense forest is the 
prevailing characteristic, a mass of tropical vegeta- 
tion, palms, huge trees, vast creepers, some two 
feet in diameter, twisting like giant snakes along 
the ground or up the tree trunks, great swamps, 
covered with weirdly green grass and reeking of 
stagnant vegetation, the whole beautiful, fertile, 
but horrible on account of its obvious unhealthiness. 
A man new to Africa would delight in it ; I, on the 
other hand, have had six years of fever, and I look 
at it all with yellow eyes. It is typical of nine- 
tenths of South and East Africa, fascinating, but 
utterly useless to the white man.' 

Amyas' next entry is dated 30th June, north 
bank of Sabi River : " They told us where we slept 
yesterday that there was a big kraal here, also a 

M 



178 THE DIARY OF 

pool containing hippo, and a path which followed 
along the bank of the river. When we got here, 
the village proved to consist of four wretched huts, 
there was no hippo pools, and, worst of all, no path. 
There will be much weeping and gnashing of teeth 
in that last kraal when we call there on our way 
back. They told us yesterday, where we stopped 
midday, that there was no virgin rubber left ; all 
the creepers had been worked out. Of course, they 
were lying. When we find a truthful Kaffir, I will 
make a note of the fact, and underline it. 

" This morning we only had half-a-mile to go 
before we came to the ford on the Sabi. They 
told us the river was deep — it was. The carriers 
were all afraid to try it, so Stanley and I stripped 
and started. The river bed is a full mile and a 
quarter in width ; but the actual stream there was 
only about two hundred and fifty yards. The 
tallest boy was told off to follow us closely with 
our clothes. There was a strong stream running, 
and that, with the heavy sand bottom, made walk- 
ing difficult. At one point the water was up to my 
chin ; yet we dared not swim, for then the carriers 
would have refused to try it. It was a winter 
morning, and, even in East Africa, the air is sharp 
at sunrise, at least to a wet and unclad man ; con- 
sequently, as soon as we landed, we looked round 
for our clothes. Lo and behold, however, the boy 
who was supposed to be bringing them was still on 
the other bank, taking snufT. We shouted and 
whistled to him, then ran up and down in the sand 
for all we were worth in a not very successful 
attempt to keep warm. 

"When we reached this kraal we found no one 




AMYAS PORTAL HYATT. 



A S(^LDIER OF FORTUNE 179 

in it, though we discovered eighteen eggs, which 
were more to the point, and we then had breakfast. 
When some local niggers did turn up, they denied 
the existence of a path down the Sabi, and also 
declared there was no rubber. 

" The flies are so awful now, I can't possibly go 
on writing, as I have to hit at them with a towel 
between every other word." 

That same kraal had a huge stock of grain, which 
was absolutely heaving with weevils, a fact that cost 
us dear later on, for, during the night — we had to 
stay there because there was no water for a good 
many miles ahead — they got into our own flour 
bags and practically ruined our whole supply. 

The man who has never been in the East Coast 
jungles would not understand the vital importance 
of the question of paths, and the ease with which 
the natives can deceive you on that point. Not 
only was all the water on the paths, which practi- 
cally led from one of the few water holes to the 
next ; but the jungle was so dense that anything 
in the nature of a cross-country trek was usually 
utterly impossible. Here and there, we did get a 
few hundred yards of open ; but for the greater 
part of the way the paths had been chopped out 
through the thorn scrub. I have gone for twenty 
miles at a stretch in that jungle without seeing a 
living thing, or getting a glimpse of the sun over- 
head. Not only is the undergrowth dense, but it 
is literally tied together by the most extraordinary 
number of stringlike creepers, with hooked thorns 
every few inches of their length. A brick wall 
would stop you no more effectually than does that 
jungle. Even the elephant, of which the country 



180 THE DIARY OF 

is full, cannot break through it ; even the tiny little 
red jungle antelope, not much bigger than a hare, 
cannot get under it. 

Under these conditions, you must find a path ; 
and as the latter is sure to start in an indefinite 
sort of way out of one of the fields, not becoming 
well marked until it is right in the jingle, a local 
guide is essential. The fact that the natives denied 
so strenuously that there was a path along the 
north bank of the Sabi convinced us that one 
existed and that there was rubber along it. How- 
ever, in the end, they managed to get us away in 
a north-easterly direction, towards the kraal of 
M'Kupi, the big chief of the whole Sabi Valley. 

At the first kraal across the Sabi, our M'Hlengwi 
carriers struck. They declared that they were 
tired, that if we went on the Bushmen — or 
" Archers " as they are called — would kill us all, 
and that there was no rubber and never had been 
any. It was an astonishing piece of insolence ; 
but the meeting only lasted long enough for x^myas 
and myself to understand what they were talking 
about and jump to our feet. We had not taken 
two steps towards them before they shouted out 
that they had changed their minds. In the end, 
they were all fined two days' pay, whilst all their 
biltong was taken away and given to the Mashona. 
We had no more trouble after that one futile little 
outbreak ; but we used to watch all our boys very 
carefully in future ; for it would have been no 
pleasant thing had they deserted us in that ghastly 
jungle. 

The Mashona were frightened all the time. They 
were far from their beloved granite kopjes, amongst 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 181 

the most dreaded of their hereditary foes. Fortun- 
ately, however, they reaHsed that their best chance 
of safety lay in keeping with us. In addition to 
the actual dangers and difficulties of the journey, 
the jungle was full of unseen terrors for them, evil 
spirits which jumped out on you from behind trees, 
witches who gave you unimaginable diseases, local 
natives who were men one moment, lions the next. 
I remember one night they were asking if we should 
go as far as the sea, of which they had heard, 
vaguely. Amyas answered that we should, adding 
that, as soon as the Mashona bathed in the salt 
water the tails which their ancestors had lost would 
grow again. It was said with a laugh ; but the 
alarm and consternation of the heathen showed that 
it was no joke to them. 

On the thirteenth day out we found the first 
trace of rubber. Amyas writing from *' Nowhere 
in particular " said : " We left N'Dabula's early, 
and, after eight miles' tramping, came to a broad 
sand river, with permanent water in some holes 
the Kaffirs had dug, and plenty of lion, rhino, and 
elephant spoor. We stopped for breakfast at a 
kraal on the farther bank. They told us there was 
no water for a long way, so our boys filled their 
calabashes, and were very wild when we found 
water twice in the next four miles. From the last 
water hole, Stanley and I and three boys walked 
on ahead very fast, hoping at every turn to come 
on the next kraal. However, we did not get there 
till sunset, tired and disgusted ; but we forgot all 
about this when Jumbo came in, long after dark, 
carrying some leaves and bark off a rubber creeper. 
He had noticed several about twelve miles back, and 



182 THE DIARY OF 

had remained to investigate. At first, we were 
inclined to go back ; but finally decided to have a 
look at the Portuguese at M'Kupi's first, and then 
to return to Jumbo's rubber." 

As a matter of fact, though neither of our diaries 
hints at anything of the kind, we had made up our 
minds to see first whether that same Portuguese 
still had his big consignment of rubber with him ; 
in which case, we thought it would save us the 
trouble of searching further, three thousand pounds' 
worth of gathered rubber being worth many scores 
of thousands of creepers hidden in the jungle. 

We had heard that the Dago was leaving shortly, 
and, naturally, we were in a hurry to get on ; but 
every trek there was the same trouble about water, 
and once a guide wasted a whole day for us. My 
entry about that cheerful savage Is: "We took a 
local boy as guide, and before long were congratu- 
lating ourselves thereon, for the path split up into 
a number of smaller ones ; and the guide seemed 
to have no doubt as to which to follow. After a 
while, the track became very indistinct, finally peter- 
ing out altogether. The country was mainly jungle, 
a tangled mass of undergrowth with here and there 
a few larger trees. Every branch, even to the 
smallest twig, was covered with a light green 
fungus, somewhat similar to asparagus, except 
that it hangs in festoons and has no apparent roots 
or stem. It gives a weird, unwholesome look to 
everything ; the very air seems a sickly, greenish 
hue, whilst the enormous amount of dead wood 
strewn over the ground shows the destructive effect 
the stuff has on the trees themselves. The guide 
led us down a long, muddy sluit, evidently a 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 183 

favourite haunt of buffalo, followed it for some 
distance, then turned abruptly into a belt of open 
bush country. He travelled quickly, as if quite 
sure of his way, and we thought he was taking a 
short cut. The veld gradually became rougher, 
a series of dry watercourses and rocky dongas. 
Finally, he climbed the bank of a small sluit and 
we found ourselves on a miniature tableland, bare 
and stony. Our savage squatted down, carefully 
laid his bow and arrows on a rock, took snuff, and 
then informed us cheerfully that he was lost. 

" There was no sun to give us the direction, and, 
even had there been, we had not the vaguest idea 
as to where the water lay. The guide thought, but 
was not sure, that the kraal we were going to lay 
behind us on the left. We absolutely refused to 
accept that view, and sent out some of our boys 
to look round for a path. By a rare piece of luck, 
they came on the absolutely fresh spoor of two 
natives crossing a patch of burned veld, a sign that 
there was a way through in that direction. We 
followed the spoor, found water a couple of miles 
along it, and finally discovered our kraal in exactly 
the opposite quarter to that in which the guide had 
declared it lay." 

It was a dreary task plodding through that jungle. 
Every trek, our objective, M'Kupi's kraal, where 
the Portuguese rubber was, seemed to grow farther 
away. It would be fifteen miles off at dawn, forty 
miles away at sunset. There was no game, at least 
we saw none, though elephant were obviously plenti- 
ful, as were also buffalo. We shot a good many 
guinea-fowl, and these formed our staple food ; but 
for a fortnight neither of us used a rifle. The 



184 THE DIARY OF 

natives, most of whom were of a very low type, 
used the bow and arrow. One rarely saw an 
assegai. Their arrows were beautifully made, 
barbed in a most elaborate way and poisoned with 
the greatest care — curious how a black man loves 
poisons — but the bows, though over six feet long in 
most instances, were so stiff as to be nearly useless ; 
really the spring was in the gut bowstring, rather 
than In the wood itself. 

The kraals are split up Into a number of little 
groups of huts, seldom more than two or three In 
one clearing. At first we could not conceive the 
reason for this ; but an ingenuous youngster ex- 
plained matters. It appeared that if they all lived 
together they could not refrain from poisoning one 
another. 

We reached M'Kupi's at last, or rather his out- 
lying fields, and stayed there to wash, shave, put on 
clean clothes, and even ties, wherewith to impress 
the Portuguese. We had to see him first, and see 
his rubber, before we made any definite plans. I 
have sometimes wondered what would have happened 
had we found him. The attitude of the average 
Briton In South Africa towards the Portuguese is 
a curious one. He looks on the Dago as something 
quite beyond the law, a brigand who lives by his 
trade, and may be dispossessed of his spoils without 
the least Injustice. However, In our case, the 
question of what we might do never actually arose. 
The Portuguese had been gone four days when we 
arrived there. We found his hut, a miserable little 
square affair, and we saw two of his wives, who had 
red mud plastered In their wool. Whilst we were 
there, one of his police boys came back to say that 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 185 

a carrier belonging to the kraal — they had all been 
pressed into the service, and were, we heard, '' carry- 
ing ten men's loads " — had died from exhaustion, 
and his brother was required to take on his load. 

M'Kupi's kraal was a huge one. There must have 
been some five hundred really fine huts in it ; whilst 
the inhabitants were, without exception, pure-blooded 
Zulu by descent. We asked for M'Kupi, and were 
told he was away, the usual lie ; although the chief 
himself, a splendidly built old Kaffir, was standing 
by at the time. We had lost the Portuguese, and 
had as yet seen no rubber creepers that were of any 
practical value ; moreover, we knew it would be 
perfectly useless to ask M'Kupi where the real 
N'Dandine lay ; but we did want meal for our 
boys badly, and, as the crops had obviously been 
very big, we intended to have it. M'Kupi's brother 
professed to be acting as headman, and presented us 
with a pot of beer. In return we gave him some limbo, 
and asked for a good supply of meal, offering pay- 
ment. Whether our offer seemed so contrary to 
Portuguese practice as to be suspicious, or whether 
they had been told never to assist an Englishman, 
I do not know ; but we got no meal that night, and 
when M'Kupi, who had made up his mind to " re- 
turn," appeared in the morning, he brought at the 
outside five pounds' weight. His excuse was that 
there was none ground — in a kraal of five hundred 
huts ! He was told bluntly not to lie ; but to get 
the meal quickly. He went away and sulked, whilst 
our boys hunted round for food. Of course they 
found it in hundredweights. 

Towards afternoon we sent for M'Kupi again, to 
demand a guide to the Sabi. As he was not to be 



186 A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 

seen, Amyas went in search of him, and arrived 
just in time to meet him coming out of the hut. 
Our boys were told to capture him, as we had sworn 
to make him carry a pack as a cure for his bad 
manners ; but he was too quick ; and the last glimpse 
we got of the great chief of the Sabi Valley was when 
he was struggling through a belt of thorn scrub, 
leaving his white coat behind him in the form of 
ribbons. Then we held up the kraal and took what 
we needed, paying for the meal with one long 
stretch of limbo, over which we left the inhabitants 
quarrelling savagely. 

We took a guide too, in fact he volunteered to 
come, and not only to show us the path to the Sabi, 
but also to lead us to a large belt of full-grown 
rubber creepers. He merely carried a bow and 
arrows, no blankets, so we were not in the least 
surprised to find on the following morning that he 
had gone ; and I do not think we regretted him, as 
he would inevitably have taken us along a path 
which would have missed the rubber belt. Still our 
long tramp up to M'Kupi's, about a hundred and 
thirty miles from the border, had taught us a good 
deal. We knew now that it was quite useless to ask 
for information ; the only way was to extract it ; 
and we put our new theory into practice at the first 
opportunity which occurred. 



CHAPTER XVIII 

On quitting M'Kupi's, our intention was to go, as 
nearly as possible, due south to the Sabi again ; but 
we found such good indications of rubber that we 
changed our plans, and ultimately got back on to 
our old outward track. We saw small creepers, too 
small to be of any actual value, every mile or two ; 
but what really encouraged us was the discovery of 
an Arab trading station in a little kraal where we 
spent the night. It seemed that, during the wet 
season, dhows stole right up the river, as far as the 
Mashonaland border, collecting rubber, and, in all 
probability, selling rifles and ammunition as well. 
Nowadays, in consequence of the report we made, 
the Portuguese have started a port at the mouth of 
the river, so I suppose the smugglers have to pay 
blackmail, unless, of course, the whole industry has 
been taken over by the officials ; but in those days 
there was no supervision. The only law in the 
Sabi Valley was what you made yourself. We real- 
ised that fact when we left M'Kupi's, and for the 
next six weeks or so we were the Administration ; 
our boys took to calling themselves Police, whilst 
Jumbo, who was very large and badly pock-marked, 
conferred on himself the local rank of "Capitaine." 
It was not a bad idea. The carriers got a new zest 
in their work. The venture began to interest them, 
especially when, as often happened, we had a string 
of prisoners to take the loads in their places. Our 
gaoler was Jim, a particularly villainous-looking 
187 



188 THE DIARY OF 

cross between a Mashona and some other race, I 
never knew which one. He had a Tower musket of 
his own, and he used to go about his duties with a 
tremendous air of importance. He always had a 
Httle package of extremely high meat slung round 
him somewhere — he preferred it when it had a 
definite flavour — consequently, you could find him, 
in the darkest night, though, I need hardly say, he 
was not allowed to sleep in our own scherm. Jim 
loved his job, and he was the saddest Kaffir in 
Africa when we recrossed the border, and he ceased 
to be an official. Even the fact that he had a large 
calabash of absolutely putrid hippo dripping failed 
to console him. 

My diary during that portion of the trip is written 
in pencil, and is almost indecipherable. I was full 
to the eyes with fever, and not in a mood for doing 
much writing. Most of the work fell on Amyas' 
shoulders ; but he was, as usual, capable of doing 
his own share and mine as well, and yet he still 
found time to write up his diary. There are not 
many boys of twenty who could take charge of an 
expedition through an entirely unknown country, 
and not only take charge, but carry things through 
to a successful issue. Up on the high veld, or even 
in the kopje country, it is different. At least you 
know what other men have done, what you may 
expect to meet ; you are in the open air ; you can 
see where you are. But down in the deadly still- 
ness of that jungle, surely the most depressing 
stretch of country in the world, matters were quite 
otherwise. The physical strain was bad, but the 
mental was far worse. Yet Amyas went through 
it all cheerfully, with a smiling face. I am not sure 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 189 

that he did not enjoy It, for the simple reason that 
it kept him strung up all the time. 

Three days after we left M'KupI's we got a guide 
who promised to show us rubber creepers innumer- 
able. We did not believe him for one moment ; but 
still, he was worth a trial, so we allowed him to have 
a try. Amyas wrote : " We got up early this morning 
but we found the guide was most unwilling to go on. 
He had changed his mind. However, after a little 
gentle persuasion, he and two of his brothers came 
along. When we arrived here, a rather decent 
kraal, we could find no one except a few hideous old 
women and a youngster. Immediately we camped 
down, however, the guide denied having said he 
knew of any creepers, so, in accordance with our 
new plan, he and his brothers were shut up in a hut 
without food, to see if they could remember. Mean- 
while, Stanley, in routing round, found a nice en- 
closure with a very big hut in it ; and, hanging up 
in that hut. Jumbo discovered several pounds' weight 
of newly collected rubber ; in fact, the old women 
had let out that the headman and all his people 
were out tapping the creepers at that very 
moment. 

" By-and-by, three old boys turned up, and de- 
clared at once that there was no rubber. We were 
camped in that nice enclosure, which, it seemed, 
belonged to the headman, so they were at once put 
into the hut. A few minutes later, another came — 
the same process ; then another and another, until 
we had eighteen In all, including the guide and his 
brothers. The place was a perfect trap, as no one 
outside knew what was going on, and our prisoners 
just walked straight In. 



190 THE DIARY OF 

" After an hour or two, they called out through the 
door that they wanted to talk ; but when Jim, the 
gaoler, answered, he found that they were under 
the mistaken impression that they were going to be 
given food and blankets. A little later, they called 
out that they remembered where there were some 
creepers as big as a man's finger ; that did not do. 
Then they thought of some as big as a man's arm ; 
but we insisted on those as big as a man's thigh ; 
and at last they managed to recall where these were 
to be found." 

As soon as the prisoners remembered the big 
creepers, they were allowed blankets ; but we very 
wisely held back both food and fire until we had 
details as to the exact position of the rubber belt. 
We fetched out two of the old men, to see if they 
had anything reasonable to say, but they immedi- 
ately went back to the old sickening policy of lies 
and denials. So Jim ushered them into the hut 
again, and there the whole eighteen stayed till 
morning. At dawn, we sent out four pairs of our 
best boys to search for the rubber, which we knew 
must be near ; and in less than half-an-hour one 
pair was back. They had found the creepers as big 
as a man's thigh almost within sight of the kraal. 
The prisoners were then liberated, and sent to fetch 
meal for our boys, whilst we ourselves went down 
to look at the rubber. It was typical of the native 
character that, though those old men had spent a 
most unpleasant night, and had been proved liars of 
the worst kind, they recovered their spirits immedi- 
ately, and apparently bore us no ill will. In the 
end, we parted the best of friends ; whereas, had we 
accepted their lies tamely, we should certainly have 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 191 

got black looks and thinly veiled sneers when we 
went away. As it was, we had shown them we 
were chiefs, and they respected us accordingly. 

The belt of creepers turned out to be of little use, 
after all. Certainly they were good, about the 
finest I ever saw, huge things, many of them 
hundreds of feet in length ; but they were all 
within an area of half a square mile, whilst our 
proposed concession was to cover twenty square 
miles of virgin rubber and twenty square miles 
for cultivation. When we first saw them, we were 
tremendously elated, but then, as Amyas says in his 
diary : " After breakfast Stanley and I and five boys 
entered the jungle to try and find out the extent 
of the rubber belt. Oh ! the delight of it. Two 
hours' walking, or, rather, scrambling to go as 
many miles. And the scratching ! Our arms are 
still full of thorns. We soon found that a hide 
like an elephant's was necessary for the job ; so 
we gave it up. But we had been far enough to 
find out that the rubber area was far too small 
for our purpose. 

" A rubber jungle is one of the weirdest places 
I know — very dark, almost black in fact ; tall, 
straight trees which only branch out at the very 
top ; very little undergrowth, and last, but not 
least, the creepers. Creepers large and creepers 
small, rough, like the bark of an old oak, or 
smooth and shining like a snake, twisted like 
corkscrews round the trees, or hanging in great 
festoons from the branches ; not by any means 
the place for a man liable to D.T. Stanley sug- 
gests, as a name for it, the * Jim-jam Forest.' 

"This evening, July 17th, we have got back to 



192 THE DIARY OF 

where we were exactly a fortnight ago, when we 
were on our way up to M'Kupi's." 

It was six days later when Amyas made the 
next entry in his diary: "On the i8th we did 
another good day's tramp, twenty-four miles, mak- 
ing a total of forty-four miles in two days. 

"We got to the kraal near the rubber Jumbo 
had found on our outward journey just about sun- 
set, and immediately sent for the men of the kraal 
to come and talk to us. The induna and nine 
others turned up. As we expected, they denied 
all knowledge of creepers in the neighbourhood ; 
though, on being pressed, they remembered the 
existence of two, those Jumbo had seen in a sluit 
near the path. However, we reckoned they were 
lying, so they were all put into a couple of huts, 
without any food, to see if that would jog their 
memories. But it was no good ; and, as their 
tale was an unusually plausible one, we began to 
believe them. The next morning we sent five 
boys of our own back to Chivamba's ; two of them 
were to return to the border kraal with tea, sugar 
and flour. We thought at first that the whole lot 
of the carriers would mutiny ; but, greatly to our 
surprise, the five who were told off to go proved 
to be the objectors. They wanted to stay and 
see the fun. 

" That afternoon, we decided to go out on the 
veld and satisfy ourselves that there was no rubber 
in the neighbourhood ; so we took our blankets 
and food for two days for ourselves and six boys, 
and started off, leaving instructions for the prisoners 
to be liberated, as we really thought they were 
speaking the truth this time. Of course, they were 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 193 

doing nothing of the kind, as we quickly discovered. 
The rubber belt began a mile from the kraal, and 
continued, with breaks, for several miles. From 
a Kaffir's point of view, there were plenty of 
creepers ; and yet, as far as we were concerned, 
there were too few. Still, the local heathen had 
lied to us badly, and we hurried back in the 
hope of gathering in our prisoners again. We 
promised our boys that the induna and his nine 
men should come along as carriers, and, naturally, 
our fellows were anxious to recapture the convicted 
liars ; but when we got back to the village we could 
catch only the induna and two others, the rest had, 
very wisely, gone visiting friends twenty miles away. 

"In the afternoon we started out again, the 
prisoners carrying loads of meal and water. Now, 
for forty-eight hours we have been steadily tramp- 
ing through the veld round the kraal. Altogether, 
we have seen a good deal of rubber, but still not 
enough for a concession. Even after we found the 
creepers, the prisoners denied all knowledge of 
them, though many had been tapped recently. 
We discharged two of our convicts this afternoon ; 
but the induna has got to come along for several 
days more. Total distance so far, four hundred 
and seven miles." 

From that kraal we determined to go south 
and try our luck on the other bank of the Sabi. 
Our object was, of course, twofold — to find an 
area of twenty square miles suitable for rubber 
cultivation, and to discover a similar area contain- 
ing virgin rubber, over which we could get the 
exclusive right of collection until our plantation 
began to yield a crop. We had started out not 



194 THE DIARY OF 

even knowing the appearance of the rubber 
creeper ; but, by the time we recrossed the Sabi, 
we had learned most of what there was to learn 
about the climate and conditions necessary for 
cultivation. Briefly, the Landolphia wants a light, 
sandy loam, which never cakes hard, and never 
produces weeds or grass of any sort ; and complete 
shade, so that the creeper has to grow to a con- 
siderable length before it reaches the sunlight and 
branches out — two conditions which are not easy 
to fulfil. On the north bank we never found a 
hundred acres suitable for cultivation ; and I will 
admit that we were not too confident when we 
turned south again. Still, we had made up our 
minds to stick to it as long as our food and cart- 
ridges lasted. 

For the next week or so, I had rather a poor 
time. The fever came to the surface properly ; and 
I seldom remember an attack which weakened me 
more. I believe that, if I had taken it lying down, 
I should have died. Fortunately, however, Amyas 
and I had discovered a new treatment of malaria 
— walking it off. The theory is this — the moment 
the vomiting and shakes have ceased sufficiently for 
you to do so, go on with your journey. Do not 
wait till the next day, when you think you may be 
stronger. Go that day, even if you do have to sit 
down from sheer exhaustion half-a-dozen times in 
the first mile ; you will not sit down during the 
second mile, especially if you know the water 
is a long way ahead. Once you stay in your 
blankets, to try to get well, the chances are that 
you will stay down altogether, at least on that 
jungle. " Keep going " is the one safe rule. Follow 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 195 

that, and you will get the upper hand of the malaria. 
I know, because Amyas and I were forced to try it 
so often. 

I suppose malaria does sometimes kill men by 
direct action, but I am quite certain it kills more 
indirectly, by producing what we used to call " the 
funks," or by making its victims dose themselves 
with quinine. Personally, I would allow the sale of 
quinine in the Tropics to none but medical men, a 
step which would, I am certain, produce a fall in 
the death rate. But, unfortunately, the drug has 
become incorporated into that ghastly tradition 
" The Custom of the Country," and nothing would 
now stop men from killing themselves with it. 

I went on nearly fifty miles during that bout of 
fever. Three times it got the better of me, and we 
had to stop for half-a-day ; but I think that the 
theory of walking it off was amply vindicated, for, 
had I lain down to it, the dose would have been a 
very bad one. 

During this stage, Amyas wrote: *'We had ex- 
pected to sleep on the south bank of the Sabi 
to-night ; but we shall not be able to cross till 
to-morrow. We came about eight miles this 
morning, and then outspanned for breakfast. 
Almost immediately, Stanley got a nasty dose of 
fever, and, as it did not seem inclined to pass off, 
we are going to stop here. 

" Like all other places one tries to reach in this 
sweet country, the Sabi is engaged in going farther 
away. Yesterday, it was about fifteen miles distant, 
since then we have walked thirteen, and it is still 
ten miles off. I am glad to hear it is not more than 
waist deep. 



196 THE DIARY OF 

" Stanley called to me a few minutes ago ; the 
shakes have left him, and he wants some tea ; but, 
as a set-off, I am beginning to feel seedy." 

The next entry is : "A long and dreary task reach- 
ing the river, which was much farther off than we 
expected, as it had taken a big bend to the south. 
About one o'clock we crossed, or at least started to 
cross, going through most of the water soon after 
we got into the river bed. Then came about a mile 
and a quarter of loose, burning sand, which threw 
up a most appalling glare ; then another hundred 
yards of water ; and after that another long stretch 
of sand. Altogether, it took over two hours from 
bank to bank. 

" After that, we went a mile In the direction 
opposite to that in which we wished to go, and 
found a kraal. There we learnt that there was no 
path going away from the Sabi ; but that there was 
one at the next kraal lower down ; so back we went, 
and reached the other village in about an hour. 
There, of course, the path had shifted two kraals 
farther down still. As we were both feeling seedy, 
Stanley very much so, we camped for the night. 
We soon found out what was the main feature of 
this neighbourhood, for from dark to dawn we could 
hear hippo grunting in the bush just outside the 
kraal. More than once, It appeared as though they 
were coming right on top of us. They live in a 
backwater of the Sabi, it seems. We intend to 
stay again at the kraal on our way back, and get 
at least one of the noisy brutes. 

** One of our boys shot a wild goose last evening. 
It has been boiling all night, and Is now to be roasted, 
so It should be tender, and yet I will not prophesy. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 197 

" As soon as we stopped for breakfast, Stanley got 
the fever again, and as he is still too seedy to go on 
we are going to camp here. 

"July 28th. 35TH Day out 

" On the morning of the 26th we started off 
again, as Stanley was better. We told the guides 
that we wanted to go due south, away from the 
Sabi. However, we began to get rather anxious 
after the path had led us east for two or three 
miles, so we stopped the guide and asked him again. 
* Oh yes,' he said, it was all right, the path would 
turn round soon. So it did, twice, and landed us 
at a kraal on the Sabi bank, eight miles lower down. 
The guide was immediately informed that he was 
a prisoner and would have to carry a pack. He is 
still with us in that capacity, and seems quite cheer- 
ful over it. 

"Of course, there was no path going south from 
that kraal, though there was one from the next. 
The latter proved to be a large, clean place, very 
picturesque, with another Arab store in it. At 
which we were joyful, for, on going inside, we found 
a lot of rubber hanging up. Naturally, we con- 
cluded that there was rubber in the neighbourhood. 
We asked the store boy about it, and he could think 
of no better lie than that the creepers were six days' 
walk away, down the river. 

"We told him a few truths, then sent for the 
induna, who proved to be a filthy old man, wearing 
a sailor's cap and nothing else in particular. He, 
of course, knew nothing of rubber ; so, as we were 
heartily sick of that tale, we shut him up in a hut at 
once. Soon afterwards, we learnt that we had made 



198 THE DIARY OF 

a big haul, as he was none other than M'Tchavi, 
the most Important chief on that bank of the 
river. 

" There was a path going south from that kraal ; 
so, in the morning, we started off with a guide, and 
with the induna as an additional prisoner. For 
four miles the path went steadily south-east, with 
us cursing. Then we sat down, and asked the 
induna and the guide about it. Oh yes, it was all 
right. We should reach a kraal soon, where there 
was the real track. 

" Two miles farther on, Stanley got sick again, 
and, as they said the kraal was near, I stayed behind 
with four boys to look after him, whilst the rest 
went on and camped down, two of them returning 
with water. About an hour before sunset Stanley 
was able to go on to the kraal, which was only half- 
a-mile away. 

•'' As Stanley has been down with fever three 
times within the last four days, and is evidently 
played out, he is going to stay behind, whilst I 
go on with six boys for about a week, looking for 
rubber creepers. 

" I got all my things ready, and after supper 
asked about the path. There was only one, they 
said, and it led straight to Dela^oa Bav. Then I 
told them exactly what I thought of them, and 
informed them that in the morning they had got 
to cut a path for me through the jungle. However, 
when I woke up this morning, it was very cloudy, 
no chance of guiding yourself by the sun, and so I 
am waiting for it to clear. I do not doubt that 
there is a path to the south-west ; we have evidently 
been brought down this direction to keep us away 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 199 

from the rubber, which probably lies a few miles 
south of the path we have been following lately. 

"July 31ST. 41ST Day out. Place without a Name 

" I did not get off on the 28th, as it never 
cleared up. I was not sorry, as I had a touch of 
fever. Next morning I started with one of the 
kraal boys and six of our own, carrying two days' 
water. After a mile or so I had to give it up, as 
the open bush round the kraal had changed to 
absolutely impenetrable thorn jungle. I never got 
so thoroughly scratched before, whilst the boys' 
legs were bleeding all over. The local savage 
informed me that we should soon come to some of 
the elephant paths, up v/hich we could travel easily ; 
but that, before long, we should come to the 
elephants themselves, who could get no farther 
into the jungle ; and, as the animals would be 
frightened, and we should be on their only way 
out, we should probably come off rather badly. 

*' Another mile or two of scratching, and we 
reached the path again, returned to the kraal on 
this side of the hippo pool, found there really 
was a path going south from there, after all, and 
started down it. I never saw anything so tumbled 
to pieces as the trees along the track. It is not 
because they are rotten, but because the elephants, 
hundreds of them apparently, have been feeding 
there. Then I struck the dirtiest kraal I have ever 
seen and the lowest type of human beings. They 
were roasting a baboon when I arrived. Ugh ! 

" I cannot write any more now, as I am so 
worried by the ants, to say nothing of a touch of 



200 THE DIARY OF 

fever ; moreover, I am tired, having covered sixty- 
three miles of jungle paths in three days." 

Amyas went south as far as he could, right out 
of the Sabi Valley, into a horrible dry bush country, 
uninhabited, save for '' M'Tchopi " or *' Archers," 
Bushmen who usually shoot on sight with poisoned 
arrows. He came on one of these beings, squat, 
brawny, stark naked, sitting beside a water hole ; 
but the little fellow was gone the moment they tried 
to speak to him. The local heathen have a deadly 
fear of the Archers, and never venture into their 
country, the only path to the Transvaal being far 
to the east, within about fifty miles of the coast, 
though, even along that, the Bushmen are not un- 
known. They have no huts, sow no crops, and 
are supposed to be able to go a month without 
water. No one knows whether they are numerous, 
for no one has ever been to see, or, at least, no one 
has ever come back to relate what he has seen. 
One party of three or four Portuguese native police, 
boys from the far north, did go once into the bush. 
They were down collecting hut tax, and, in revenge, 
the local M'Hlengwi told them of the splendid 
villages a little farther south, where there were 
money and beer and cattle and goats. The police 
boys swallowed the bait, and went into the bush, 
where they found the Archers, or the Archers 
found them. At anyrate, there were vacancies 
in the force. 

I suppose the stretch of country Amyas covered 
that time is one of the most ghastly in Africa. 
The jungle was too thick for him to see the 
elephants, who could hear him a long way off; but 
they were round him all the time. However, there 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 201 

was no other game, nothing to relieve the deadly 
monotony of the tramping. The three kraals 
through which he passed were just miserable little 
clusters of hovels, one of them being a full ten 
miles from the water hole, to which the women 
went once every four days. 

Altogether, Amyas covered a hundred and 
twenty-five miles of absolutely unknown country 
in five days, splendid going for a boy of twenty, 
who was rotten with malaria and none too well 
supplied with stores, having only tea, sugar, weevily 
fiour and guinea-fowl, though, perhaps, his worst 
troubles were the scarcity of water and the impos- 
sibility of getting any reliable information from the 
few miserable savages he found in the villages. I 
am afraid the ordinary explorer or big-game hunter, 
with his caravan and his guard, his tents and tables 
and other absurdities, his photographer to take him 
doing his mighty deeds, and his valet to dress him 
for the part, would hardly have relished our rather 
crude methods of travelling. Yet we got there, 
quickly and cheaply, without having to rob the 
wretched villagers of their food stuffs in order to 
feed our carriers. 



CHAPTER XIX 

The journey Amyas made alone was fruitless so far 
as virgin rubber was concerned. He found very 
few creepers, and those were of poor quality ; on the 
other hand, he succeeded in the more important 
respect of finding a plantation area, a splendid block 
of suitable country, for which we afterwards obtained 
a provisional concession. I went up to the place 
with him about a fortnight after we met again. 
The soil was perfect throughout, there was ample 
shade, and, no small thing, two good pans of per- 
manent water. I believe if that land had been 
planted with creepers six years ago it would have 
been worth sixty thousand pounds to-day, and a 
quarter of a million in ten years' time. It was, of 
course, a ghastly fever hole, and the renewal of 
managers might have proved a difficulty ; but on 
the East Coast men are always plentiful, provided 
the pay is high enough. As for transport, the 
area was only eight miles from the Sabi, which is 
easily navigable in the wet season, when the crop 
would be gathered. Altogether, that piece of land 
was a sound commercial proposition, and, some day, 
I expect to see that it has been made the basis of 
an over-capitalised company, promoted by a Pioneer 
who has never been farther than Brighton. We 
shall get nothing out of it, naturally. The men 
who do the hard work and take the risks are always 
left in the end. They lack the commercial instinct, 
and fail to realise that the Ten Commandments are 

202 



( 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 203 

superseded in the City by the Eleventh. I suppose 
it is all for the best. I feel it must be whenever I 
see the sleek, silk-hatted aristocrats from Capel 
Court streaming back to their Surrey homes, and 
I am doubly convinced when I read of the gallant 
way in which they cheer a victory, and the con- 
sequent rise in the market ; and yet, at other 
times, when I remember the better men the fruits 
of whose work has been stolen, I am almost wicked 
enough to fancy that there may be something rotten 
in the system, after all. 

When Amyas left me and plunged into the thorn 
jungle, we arranged that I should get back to the 
kraal where we had heard the hippo, and wait for 
him there. However, when I tried to walk, I found 
I could not manage it. I had pretty well reached 
the limit of my strength, although, on the other 
hand, the fever had left me, and I was able to eat 
again. Fortunately, I had retained old M'Tchavi 
as a prisoner, or rather he had stayed because I 
had forgotten to tell him to go ; now, I sent for 
him, and asked him to get me carried to the hippo 
kraal. 

I cannot say I cared about the idea. Somehow, 
it seemed to bring me down to the level of a 
Portuguese ; but the natives knew it was physically 
impossible for me to travel in any other way. I 
daresay M'Tchavi was glad to be rid of me ; at 
anyrate, he sped the parting guest. They turned 
out sixteen boys as bearers, made a hammock of 
our patrol tent, slung it on a pole, and started off 
at a trot, two boys taking me for a hundred yards 
or so, then being replaced by another pair without 
any slackening of the pace. The swaying of the 



204 



THE DIARY OF 



hammock was curiously soothing and restful, and 
I believe the journey did me a considerable amount 
of good. At each kraal, M'Tchavi turned out 
sixteen fresh boys ; in fact, he managed the thing 
so well that he quite atoned for his former lies, 
although, of course, he may have felt that he was 
taking me away from some rubber, which, otherwise, 
I might have discovered. I was, however, too 
grateful to him to consider this ; so, at the end of 
the journey, I gave him various presents, and we 
parted the best of friends. He was a very dirty 
old man, and he was a most unblushing liar ; but 
he did know how to make his people work, which 
is high praise for a Kaffir chief. 

The home of the hippo proved to be a large, 
swampy pan, about ten minutes' walk from the 
kraal. Roughly, it was a mile and a half long and 
half-a-mile wide. It must have been supplied by 
some spring, for, though it was then the latter end 
of the dry season, there was no indication of the 
level having sunk. It was a depression in the 
ground, rather than a pool ; there were no proper 
banks, and twenty yards back from the edge of 
the water you had only risen a foot or two. Fully 
a quarter of it consisted of a vast bed of reeds, and 
it was amongst these that the hippo spent most of 
their time. 

We had seen a good many other pans along the 
banks of the Sabi, but none quite like this, none so 
depressing and horrible. It was the surrounding 
trees which made it so bad. These were all thorns, 
like the ordinary low-country mimosa in form, but 
having trunk, branches and leaves of a most ghastly 
light yellowish-green. We named the place the 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 205 

Swamp of the Bilious Thorns. It gave you the 
shakes merely to look at those ghastly trees ; and 
had it not been for the hippo, one visit would have 
been enough for me ; but there were nine of the 
great brutes in the pan, and we wanted at least 
one of them. 

Amyas had taken my cordite rifle with him, 
leaving me the double, black powder Express, 
which fired a lead bullet ; consequently, whilst I 
was waiting for his return, I never wasted a 
cartridge on the hippo. Even at a short range it 
would have been a futile thing to shoot ; but at 
two hundred yards, the nearest I ever got, it would 
have been a gratuitous piece of idiocy to try and 
kill one of them. 

In addition to the hippo, there was a perfectly 
extraordinary number of crocodiles. Wherever you 
looked, you saw a pair of black nostrils just above 
the surface of the water. The things that puzzled 
us was what they could have found to eat. The 
supply of fish could hardly have sufficed, and though 
there were wild fowl innumerable, from wild geese 
downwards, these were too wary to be caught. 
However, the night Amyas arrived they did get 
some ducks. He fired into a flight passing over- 
head, and brought down nine with a single 
cartridge. The boys picked up two, but the others 
fluttered down on to the water, and, within less 
than a minute, the whole lot had been taken by 
the foul brutes waiting below the surface. 

That same shot had another effect — it secured 
us a big hippo bull. As Amyas fired, half-a-dozen 
hippo thrust their heads out of the water to have 
a look at us. They were then a full three hundred 



206 THE DIARY OF 

yards off, and the chance of getting one seemed 
very small ; but I told Amyas to have a try. 
He squatted down, practically on the level of the 
water, a most difficult position, and waited for an 
opportunity. At last this came, and he fired. 
There was the ordinary commotion amongst the 
wild fowl, but the hippo, on the other hand, 
merely disappeared, making none of the wild 
flurry we had seen on former occasions when 
one of them was hit. 

Amyas and I reckoned it a miss, an opinion 
with which the boys agreed, the sole exception 
being the piccannin, who declared stoutly that 
the hippo was dead, although he could give no 
reason for his opinion. He knew it — that was 
all ; and the more they chaffed him, the more 
convinced he became. In the morning we went 
down again on the chance of another shot. There 
were several heads out, and one beast was appar- 
ently lying on a bank. Immediately, the piccannin 
declared it was the one Amyas had shot. Even 
then, the other boys laughed ; but when I fired 
at it, and the thud of the bullet came back with- 
out the animal moving, their laughter changed to 
shouts of delight. There was meat indeed now, 
and much fat for the greasing of bodies, which 
had long itched for want of it. 

Still, there was one drawback. The hippo was 
at least two hundred and fifty yards from the shore, 
and the crocodiles were already nosing round it. 
In the circumstances we would not ask any of 
our own boys to venture in, and we were rather 
at a standstill for a plan, when the local chief, a 
young and very intelligent man, came down with 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 207 

a crowd of his people. He solved the difficulty 
at once by calling for volunteers. The answer 
came immediately. Two old men came forward 
quietly, removed their loincloths, took some very 
potent charms out of a bag slung round the neck 
of one, tied these to their ankles, then, carrying 
a hastily-made length of bark rope, waded into 
the water as calmly as though the crocodiles did 
not exist. Afterwards, they explained to me that 
the charms rendered them invisible to crocodiles ; 
and undoubtedly they believed it to be so. 

The old men made their rope fast to one of the 
animal's hind legs, then started to pull it ashore. 
They were never more than breast deep ; but we 
noticed that it was not until the water was to 
their knees again that any of the crowd waiting 
on the shore went to their assistance. Presum- 
ably, no one else had any anti-crocodile charms. 

When the hippo grounded, it was seized by at 
least forty howling savages, who dragged it right 
up on to dry land ; then we had a chance to 
examine it, and found that Amyas' bullet, a nickel- 
covered one, had passed clean through the massive 
neck, lodging just under the skin on the other side. 
The process of skinning and cutting off the fat 
occupied the rest of that day. By nightfall, the 
millions of mosquitoes literally put us to flight, 
but the natives did not seem to mind them in 
the least, and a dozen of the local boys volun- 
teered to remain by the carcass to keep the schelm 
off. They had a lively experience. In our camp, 
half-a-mile away, we heard the hyaenas arriving 
along every footpath, shouting in joyful anticipa- 
tion as they came. Then, too, the crocodile began 



208 THE DIARY OF 

to crawl out of the pan, in the vain hope of being 
able to drag the body back to the water. All 
night long, those guards were heaving blazing 
brands at some evil beast or other, and it was a 
very lucky chance that there was a splendid supply 
of fuel practically within the circle of firelight ; 
otherwise, there would not have been much of 
that hippo left at dawn, even though it must 
have weighed close upon four tons. 

I think I have never seen anything to equal 
the savagery of the scene when Amyas gave the 
waiting crowd permission to start in and cut up 
the meat. Every man was allowed to get as much 
as he could ; and in a few seconds the body was 
literally hidden by naked black figures swarming 
over it, plunging their hands in and drawing out 
vast ropes of giant intestines, snarling at one 
another, snatching one another's lumps of flesh, 
yet all the while too busy actually to fight tDne 
another. Those who had not got knives, pulled 
the blades out of their assegais and used those, 
some, in their haste, even broke off the blades, 
to save time. They had never had a hippo killed 
in that swamp before. 

We stayed three days more, to cut the skin into 
sjamboks, and render down the best of the fat ; 
then, leaving the sjamboks hanging on trees to 
dry, we went back to Amyas' proposed plantation 
area, explored it thoroughly, decided it would suit 
us ; then crossed the Sabi for the third time, and 
started on the last stage of our trip. In the course 
of the latter we covered some country we had been 
forced to leave unexplored before ; but the only 
benefit we derived was the satisfaction of knowing 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 209 

that we had done our job thoroughly. Amyas 
wrote of it: "We have been nine days on the 
north bank. I will not go into details of the 
journey, which was a very beastly one. Some- 
times rough, rocky country, sometimes dense 
jungle, always bad walking " — which was, after 
all, the story of the whole trip. 



CHAPTER XX 

The only event of any interest which occurred 
during the last stage of our journey in the Portu- 
guese territory was the shooting of a couple of 
waterbuck bulls belonging to an unknown, or at 
least uncatalogued, variety. 

We were just thinking of stopping for breakfast — 
it was a swelteringly hot morning — when we sighted 
four waterbuck bulls feeding at the end of a long 
vlei, some eight hundred yards away. There 
appeared to be a deep sluit running up the vlei, 
and, as the wind was right, we arranged that I 
should creep along this, as near to them as I could, 
then shoot, and, if possible, drive the others down 
to Amyas, who was to squat in the long grass, 
waiting. 

I shall never forget that stalk. The heat in the 
sluit was appalling, and, time after time, I had to 
stop and wipe the blinding perspiration out of my 
eyes. Whilst I was creeping along, I had no idea 
as to whether the buck were still there ; but when, 
at last, I did crawl into a clump of bush, and could 
look round, I saw that one was standing up, facing 
me, at about a hundred yards' range, whilst the 
other three were lying down. I fired with my 
cordite Express, and the thud of the bullet was 
unmistakable ; but a moment later all four were 
dashing down the vlei, straight towards Amyas. 
When they were about eighty yards off, he stood 
up and fired ; instantly one of the bulls collapsed. 

2IO 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 211 

The rest turned again, and passed me at about 
eighty yards. Wanting meat badly for the boys, I 
took another shot, and a second buck fell. 

Naturally enough, we concluded that Amyas had 
killed the first, and that I had killed the second ; 
yet, when we cut them open, the first had my 
nickel bullet, the second Amyas' lead bullet. Each 
was shot clean through heart and lungs, and each 
man's buck must have been actually falling when 
the other man pulled his trigger. Greatly to our 
delight, we found that they were of a much smaller 
variety than the ordinary waterbuck, and, though 
both were old, their meat was as good as that of 
a sable ; whereas the Rhodesian waterbuck bull 
smells horribly and is practically uneatable. 

The two boys who had been sent to Chivamba's 
met us at the hippo pool when we returned there 
for the sjamboks ; and their news made us deter- 
mine to get back to the store as quickly as possible. 
It appeared that Kenneth had been carried into 
Victoria Hospital, suffering from black-water fever, 
and that the whole business had gone to ruin. We 
had left a fine collection of food stuffs at the trading 
station, dozens of tins of tea, some three hundred 
pounds of sugar, three or four sacks of flour, and 
sundry groceries such as jams, curry powder and so 
on ; yet all that the two boys brought us back was 
a sackful of tinned meats, the one thing we did not 
need. The rest had been looted by the young 
Afrikander whom Kenneth had left in charge, a 
youth to whom we had been paying a good salary 
for the last eighteen months. He had taken, in 
all, about seventy pounds' worth of stuff When, 
later on, I caught him and was going to have him 



212 THE DIARY OF 

arrested, he blubbered pitifully, and urged as an 
excuse that his mother had made him rob the 
Englishmen. As a matter of fact, he was telling 
the truth on that point. I suppose I ought to have 
put the whole family in prison ; but, instead of 
doing so, I took the more practical course of accept- 
ing compensation to the extent of about half our 
losses. Still, the incident was a very annoying 
one, and confirmed me in my determination never 
to employ another man who could not prove that 
he was Home-born. I daresay I am prejudiced on 
this point, people often declare that I am, and yet 
I can only write of the Afrikanders as I found 
them. I have, of course, met some of the other 
sort, thoroughly good fellows, especially amongst 
those who were colonial-born merely by the acci- 
dent of their parents living in the country ; but I 
am afraid these formed the minority. Still, I may 
have been unusually unfortunate in my experiences. 
We got back to Chivamba's thin, hungry, prac- 
tically barefooted, and literally in rags. Amyas 
had one brown dungaree trouser leg, the rest of 
the garment being blue. My last shirt had a sleeve 
and shoulder clean gone. According to our reckon- 
ing, we had covered nine hundred miles of unknown 
country in sixty days, including stops — not a bad 
average. And then, on top of that, I had to go 
straight on to Victoria, another eighty miles, in 
order to capture the young brute who had been 
stealing our provisions. I fixed him up, and then, 
of course, I got the fever, the absolutely Inevitable 
result of passing direct from the coastal districts 
to the high veld. I was very tired, and so look 
the doctor's advice, and went into hospital. Dr 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 213 

Williams spoke of ten days or a fortnight in bed ; 
but I was in a hurry to get down to Amyas, so I 
got one of the hospital boys to take a message to 
my carriers, bidding them get ready to start, and 
on the fifth morning I dressed and slipped away, 
knowing well that I should get better as soon as I 
was off that dreary high veld. 

There w^as no business doing down at the store, 
in fact, the end had really come before we started 
for the Portuguese. The cattle were dying off 
everywhere so rapidly that trade of all sorts was 
absolutely paralysed ; and though, so far, our oxen 
were not infected, we knew that they were doomed. 
No one would buy cattle at any price. In March 
Amyas had actually refused five hundred and fifty 
pounds cash for our span of sixteen black oxen, 
certainly one of the finest spans in the country ; in 
June we could not have got one-twentieth of that 
sum for it. I remember one Dutchman, a very nice 
fellow, who was worth eleven thousand pounds 
before the disease appeared ; three months later 
all he had left was eight bullocks, and when he 
drove these into Victoria no one would even take 
them as a gift, and they wandered away on to the 
veld, to die there. 

When the Rinderpest swept through Africa in 
1896 and 1897, cattle owners took it with grim 
philosophy. It was the act of God ; no human 
skill could avail to stop a disease which was spread 
by the wild game ; moreover, the scourge was 
quickly past, and such cattle as did survive were 
thereafter immune and, consequently, worth five 
times as much as they had been before. The 
Rinderpest destroyed ninety per cent, of the cattle ; 



214 THE DIARY OF 

and yet the enormously enhanced value of the re- 
maining ten per cent, enabled many a transport 
rider to start afresh. 

The African coast fever of 1902 was, on the 
other hand, a very different matter. You cannot 
ascribe to the act of God what you know arises 
from the gross incompetence of man. The disease 
was introduced into Rhodesia through culpable 
ignorance, allowed to spread through culpable 
negligence. The only possible excuse for the 
officials guilty is that they had been placed in 
positions for which their scanty mental attain- 
ments obviously rendered them unfit ; but this 
does not palliate the fact that when, at last, they 
realised their mistake, they did not try to rectify 
it, but, instead, told lie after lie in a pitiful attempt 
to shift the blame. The coast fever ruined every 
cattle owner in Rhodesia, including myself, and 
even now it is an effort for me to write of it 
without bitterness. If I were to put down all 
I feel, I should say some harsh and impolite 
things. 

The history of the African coast fever is this 
— it was brought into the country by a mob of 
a thousand Australian cows which Cecil Rhodes 
had imported with the idea of improving the 
breed of cattle. When these cows got to Beira, 
naturally, no arrangements had been made to send 
them up country — Rhodes was dying, and the little 
Tin Gods were already beginning to feel very 
mighty — as a result, the animals ran for a fort- 
night or so with the local cattle, and picked up 
the local disease, coast fever, which never comes 
out when the infected beast is on the coast, but 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 215 

is fatal as soon as the victim gets a thousand 
feet or so above sea-level. 

Rhodes' cattle arrived in Umtali, nine hundred 
and ninety- seven strong, and began to die in 
scores forthwith. The consternation amongst 
cattle owners may easily be imagined. They 
had not forgotten the Rinderpest. The Govern- 
ment was petitioned to have the remainder of the 
herd destroyed at once, to burn off all the grass on 
which the Australian cows had fed, and to draw a 
cordon of police round the whole area. So much 
in earnest were we, that we were willing to meet 
the whole expenses of these measures by sub- 
scription amongst ourselves. Had Rhodes been 
there, or had the London Board realised the 
truth, there is no doubt that the disease would 
have been stamped out immediately. But Rhodes 
had just died ; the Stock Exchange had the 
"jumps " badly ; and so the High Gods of Salis- 
bury declared that there was no new disease, that 
it was simply red-water, that it must be allowed 
to run through the country, and that neither 
special regulations nor a quarantine area was 
necessary. 

Nine hundred and ninety-six out of the nine 
hundred and ninety-seven cows died — and still 
there was, officially, no epidemic. The disease 
must run through the country — such was the fiat 
of Salisbury. And run through the country the 
disease did. In the end, ninety-seven and a half 
per cent, of the white man's cattle died, and we 
were all ruined, absolutely, irretrievably. It is 
needless to say that we were bitter, that we 
are still bitter, not against the Chartered Com- 



216 THE DIARY OF 

pany itself, but against those whom it was un- 
fortunate enough to have in its employ. 

I am, as I said before, writing with restraint. 
I am not putting down half the things I feel 
now, a tenth of what we all felt then. I have 
learnt things since I quitted Africa. I know now 
that a K.C.M.G., or a C.M.G.—'' Colonial-Made 
Gentleman " was how we used to translate those 
mystic, and much cadged-after, letters — is a person 
of importance, whilst a transport rider was merely 
a fool, who did the rough and dangerous work of 
the country, breaking down the way for wiser and 
more careful men ; consequently, I realise that 
many of my prejudices were wrong, because I 
shall never be a C.M.G., who must be very noble, 
or he would not be considered officially a fit com- 
panion for two militant saints. Still, of course, 
those same saints have never had a chance of 
telling us their opinion of the new comrades 
foisted upon them. 

Much of the story of that cattle disease reads like 
fiction. I will give only one instance, because, if I 
gave more, I should be led on to say those bitter 
things which I have been so careful to avoid hitherto. 
If I cannot bury the hatchet in my enemy's head, I 
hold that it is more dignified to bury it in the 
garden, or in some other place where it will be out 
of sight until you actually need it again. It is an 
unpleasant thing to have lying about. The instance 
is this — for three or four months the whole Victoria 
district was kept absolutely free from African coast 
fever. We did not have a single case, thanks to 
the fact that our Civil Commissioner, E. J. Lawlor, 
a young Irishman, by a long way the most brilliant 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 217 

official in the Chartered Company's service, had 
kept infected cattle out of the district. I do not 
know whether we loved Lawlor more for his de- 
lightful, witty personality, or for the fact that when 
the Law of the Land — which is founded on the 
mongrel Roman- Dutch code, a fact in itself an 
insult to the British community — and the law of 
common-sense were at issue, he always based his 
decision on the latter. I have heard men call 
Lawlor a Wild Irishman. This I do know, he was 
the sanest magistrate and administrator I ever 
knew. 

Lawlor kept the coast fever out of the Victoria 
district, and I believe he would have continued to 
keep it so, had not the Government upheld its theory 
of letting the disease have its run. Possibly in 
Salisbury they held that, the fact of the Civil 
Commissioner of Victoria being the mental superior 
of his colleagues, was no argument in favour of that 
district receiving preferential treatment. So in the 
end the disease came and ruined us all. Three 
spans of infected cattle were despatched from Salis- 
bury. At the borders of his district, Lawlor held 
these up, and, as several of the local transport riders, 
including ourselves, had offered to go and fetch in 
the loads gratuitously, there was no conceivable 
reason why the dying cattle should come into our 
country, spreading the infection along the main 
road. But the High Gods thought otherwise, and 
insisted that those sick oxen should come in and 
infect all our cattle. I shall never forget Lawlor 's 
bitterness. I think the incident killed all his interest 
in his career ; for he saw that, until the London 
Board made a clean sweep of all Cecil Rhodes' un- 



218 THE DIARY OF 

wise selections, there was no room in the service for 
an able and honourable man like himself. He is 
out of the service now, and the country is the poorer 
for that fact. 

After Salisbury sent us the three spans of sick 
cattle, the end came quickly, so far as we were 
concerned. Our oxen, those gallant, faithful beasts, 
which we had trained ourselves, which had served 
us so well, died by the roadside, and were eaten by 
the foul hyaenas. Our wagons, which alone repre- 
sented nearly four hundred pounds, were abandoned 
on the road by the dead cattle ; our stores, filled with 
stuff of all sorts, were left for the Kaffirs to loot. 
True, the Portuguese gave us a provisional con- 
cession for our rubber area ; but, when our cattle 
were dead, we had no capital to work it, or even to 
pay the cost of survey and title, and so, in the end, 
we lost that too. We lost everything, in fact, the 
fruits of years of danger and fever and hard work. 
We just paid our debts — though nobody paid us — 
and then we had nothing remaining which we had 
acquired in Rhodesia, except badly damaged con- 
stitutions. What wonder if I still feel sore, especi- 
ally as I know that, had our cattle not been destroyed 
by the disease, our careers would have been utterly 
different, and Amyas would probably be with me 
still. So I have only buried the hatchet where I 
can find it again. 

Yet I have no bitterness against the Chartered 
Company itself, whatever I may have felt or written, 
in those days. If I blamed the London Board, I 
admit frankly that I was wrong. Matters were in a 
chaotic state ; Rhodes' successors had not yet got 
the grip of things ; or they were, inevitably, in the 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 219 

hands of the men on the spot. The subsequent 
history of the country, the steady recovery which 
has been made since that ghastly plague had spent 
its force, proves that the board is now carrying out 
its proper function, making decrees for Salisbury to 
register and carry into effect. The Tin Gods have 
been rattled and shown their own hollowness, 
squeezed, and shown how easily they can be dented, 
or even crushed altogether ; and so Rhodesia is 
going ahead steadily. But the change came too 
late for us. 



CHAPTER XXI 

During our cattle-owning years, after we had finally 
shaken the dust of those detestable mining camps 
off our feet, I think the best days were those when 
we were riding transport. True, we were only on 
the road in the wet season, and, consequently, got 
the roughest part of the life ; but still I loved it, 
even when the black mud was apparently bottomless, 
when the flooded rivers held us up for weeks on end, 
when, day after day, we had no cooked food, because 
the only fuel available on that ghastly high veld, the 
cow dung, had been turned into a horrible slime by 
the unceasing rain. 

But the country was not all mud, or floods, or 
high veld. There were glorious times, when you 
went along, day after day, without sticking any- 
where, when there was plenty of water, plenty of 
grass, where you could shoot buck from the wagon, 
whilst the beauty of the scenery more than com- 
pensated you for the barren dreariness of the great 
plateau, which, somehow, seemed to become merely 
a nightmare of which a Dutchman had told you. 

The transport road had a curious effect on men. 
It was the greatest influence for good I have ever 
encountered. I never met a real transport rider 
who was a blackguard, and, if I have said rough 
things about colonials, these apply only to colonials 
in the mining camps or townships, not to those who 
got their living on the road. 

There was no sense of nationality on the road. 

220 









OX THE ROAD. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 221 

We were all one people, just as everyone else was 
outside our world. I have met the mining man 
in charge of transport, trying to show off — as a 
youngster I have suffered from his showing off — 
but even the oxen saw the difference, and despised 
him. You cannot handle cattle unless it is born in 
you to do so : and if you find a man takes a delight 
in mining machinery and its abominations, if he talks 
of plates and dies and vanners, or stopes and winzes 
and shafts, and then goes on to tell you he under- 
stands cattle and the life of the veld, put him down 
as a liar, right away. Assuredly, he is one. I was 
a rotten engineer, my heart was never in my work ; 
but I am certain, if only for that reason, that I was a 
good transport rider. It amuses me now to remember 
how some of those men we had on the Geelong used 
to brag and bluff and boast about how much they 
knew, how they used to take infinite pains to im- 
press us youngsters fresh from home with their 
great knowledge ; and yet, when I got on the road, 
and began to earn my living with my oxen, I quickly 
realised that they were all wind and ignorance. 

I loved the road, and I loved the men of the road, 
those who understood it. As I have said, there was 
no nationality there — Boer and Briton, Cape man 
and Natal man, all fraternised, and helped one 
another through the bad places, and hated the 
mining people and the people of the townships, 
saving always the people of Victoria, who were 
different from the others. 

The road is finished now. Its glory has departed. 
The railway has killed transport as I used to know 
it, and all that remains to-day is mere pottering to 
and fro from station to mine, footling little journeys 



222 THE DIARY OF 

of a few days' duration, carriers' business, in fact. 
I wish the railway had been stopped at Bulawayo 
on the one side and at Umtali on the other side ; 
in that case, I should have liked to remain in the 
country, for the new class of man, the German and 
the Greek and the Hebrew, the stiff-collared clerk, 
and the unctuous official, would never have come 
into it, and, thereby, Rhodesia would have been the 
gainer. I know how sacred a thing progress is ; 
and I realise that all these people I detest so much 
represent Progress and Light in Darkest Africa, and 
Sunny Fountains, and Dividends ; and yet, I would 
keep all of them out of Rhodesia if I could, preferring 
still the reek of the cow-dung fire to the exhaust of 
the motor car, the call of the guinea-fowl in the mealie 
lands to the braying of a hotel orchestra. 

I loved the road — Heaven knows, I love it still, 
for its own sake, and also for the sake of Amyas, 
who was my partner on the road, who understood 
it as I did, heard its call as clearly as I did — but 
the road, our road, is gone. That abominable 
railway has replaced it, or rather displaced it, and 
the Romance of Rhodesia is dead. Men make 
money there now by orthodox occupations, die 
decently in hospitals of delirium tremens or phthisis 
or typhoid, and have the Burial Service read over 
them by real Clerks in Holy Orders, which must 
be comforting to their relatives. They have coffins 
where we used blankets ; they have cash where we 
signed good-fors ; they drink a bottle of locally 
brewed lager — ghastly stuff — where we got through 
a case of whisky. They have succeeded where we 
failed — I am not sure that their success is not due 
to the fact that we did fail, after having done the 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 223 

rough work for them — and so, I suppose, they are 
worthy of admiration. At least, I wish them better 
luck than we had. 

Perhaps, some day we shall go back and have a 
look at the country, my Good Comrade and I, and I 
shall show her the old places — if I can still recognise 
them. But I am afraid I shall be able to introduce 
her to few of the old friends ; and therein will lie 
the bitterness. They tell me that in Victoria, the 
township I loved, there remain to-day but four men 
who even know me. Four ! And at one time every 
white man there was my personal friend. 

We shall go to Rhodesia, by train ; and we shall 
stay at hotels where, instead of bully beef, we shall 
get ptomained cold-storage stuff from Australia, 
where an Italian manager will bow us in and calcu- 
late how much he can overcharge us, and a Greek 
porter will see our boxes up to our rooms and rob 
them whilst we are at dinner. I shall be treated as 
a new-comer ; men who could not tell a yoke-skey 
from a voor-stell will wax eloquent in the subject of 
their own pioneering work, and will offer to conduct 
me down the very roads which Malcolm and Amyas 
and I made in the dark ages, the days of bully beef 
and mealie meal and burials in blankets. 

I left Amyas to scrape together what he could out 
of the wreck, whilst I went home, to try and raise 
capital for our rubber concession. I failed, lament- 
ably. The men in the City, skin-dealing Hebrews, 
mostly belonging to the type which had robbed and 
killed my father, with whom I tried to deal, pro- 
crastinated and lied, whilst they were trying to get 
behind my back and obtain the concession direct, 
and so avoid the wrench of giving us a share. 



224 THE DIARY OF 

For four weary months, I pegged away at the thing, 
hoping against hope, trying to infect men with an 
enthusiasm which was already waning within my- 
self; but, at last, I realised that the game was up, 
and looked round for a job, which I found quickly. 

In those days following the war, most things 
African were looked upon with suspicion by that 
extraordinarily astute person, the British investor ; 
but one branch of industry did appeal to him, and 
that was the cold storage business. He argued 
astutely that, because there had been an enormous 
demand for frozen meat during the campaign, when 
everything was abnormal, the demand must be even 
greater during normal times ; and so he subscribed 
readily to all the cold storage companies floated 
for the benefit of the African consumer. Amongst 
these was the Rhodesia Cold Storage and Trading 
Company, an amalgamation of several local con- 
cerns, a weird mixture of meat, drapery and Kafifir 
truck, carefully blended together by a master hand, 
presided over by a Person of quality, and capitalised 
at half-a-million sterling. I do not know what has 
happened to that company now. The papers no 
longer quote its shares, and the Person of quality 
has ceased to be its chairman. I have no doubt 
the shareholders remember it still, but the world 
at large has forgotten that it ever existed. I re- 
member it, however, because I was engaged by it 
as assistant engineer, my duty being to install the 
new plant it was sending out, whilst my chief, 
Leonard Careless, one of the most able refrigerating 
engineers then alive, was to supervise generally. 

The London office was in a hurry for me to go 
out to Salisbury, and, as I had no reason to delay 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 225 

longer in London, I took the first steamer. How- 
ever, on reaching the Rhodesian capital, I found 
that, as yet, there was no machinery for me to 
erect ; and for two solid months I stayed at the 
Queen's Hotel, doing absolutely nothing in the 
way of work. I suppose some people would quote 
the old saying about idle hands and mischief, when 
I say that I put in a good deal of time writing 
articles for a London financial paper, which, by the 
way, paid me nothing for them. On the other 
hand, I, myself, did not regard it as mischief; I 
took myself very seriously then, and, as a matter of 
fact, the question on which I started, single handed, 
to fight the Rhodesian Government, was one of 
vital importance. 

I was bitter over the loss of my cattle, I will 
admit that, and I put some gall into my articles ; 
but revenge was not my motive. My object 
was to prevent a native rebellion, which would 
assuredly have broken out had the Administration 
been permitted to have its way, and raise the hut 
tax of ten shillings to a poll tax of two pounds. 
The injustice of the proposed measure was equalled 
only by its idiocy, and yet it was passed into law by 
the futile little Legislative Council. The natives 
could not pay two pounds per head, and an attempt 
to collect that amount would inevitably have driven 
them to revolt — that was the practical side of the 
question ; whilst the moral objection to the tax was 
that the native would be getting practically nothing 
in return. The argument that the tax would force 
the native to go to the mines, where he would learn 
the nobility of toil, was the rankest hypocrisy ; for 
many of the mines were already overstocked with 
p 



226 THE DIARY OF 

boys, whilst none of them would employ Rhodesian 
natives so long as Portuguese Kaffirs were obtain- 
able. 

At the time, I thought that the mining companies, 
or at least the unsuccessful majority, had urged the 
Government to increase the tax in the hope of bring- 
ing about a rebellion, which would give them an 
excuse for shutting down their works, and then re- 
constructing after the troubles, blaming everything 
on the natives, and so avoiding a scrutiny of their 
own misdeeds. Possibly this theory, which was 
held by a good many men, was right ; at anyrate, 
it seems to furnish a plausible explanation of what 
was, otherwise, a gratuitious piece of folly. The 
London Board approved the measure ; but then 
it must be remembered that the directors were 
dependent on the advice of its local officials, and, 
of these, the few who did understand the question, 
the Native Commissioners in the outlying districts, 
were naturally not able to make their opinions 
public. The Salisbury bureaucrats who knew all 
about natives — did not they see hundreds in the 
town every day ? — were determined to have the 
two-pound tax, rebellion or no rebellion. 

Amongst traders, transport riders, and pro- 
spectors, the men who, leading lonely lives far 
away from the towns, would have been the first 
to be murdered, feeling ran very high against the 
new ordinance ; but few had the opportunity of 
saying what they thought, whilst the chorus of 
approval from those who dwelt in the safety of the 
towns and mining camps, and so took no risks, 
drowned the voice of the opposition. On the 
other hand, my press connection enabled me to 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 227 

protest effectually ; and, in an article in The 
Financial News, I exposed the absurdity, injustice 
and danger of the whole scheme. 

When I sent the MS. home I had no idea of its 
appearing under my name. Some previous articles 
of mine in the paper had been published anony- 
mously, and I imagined that the case would be the 
same with this one. It so happened that I left 
Salisbury for Umtali about the time I posted the 
MS., and I was so busy, getting in the foundations 
for the cold storage plant I was going to erect, 
that I forgot all about The Financial News ; con- 
sequently, I was considerably astonished when, 
about five weeks after quitting Salisbury, one of 
the railway staff hurried down to my house to tell 
me that I was in terrible trouble, that I was going 
to get the sack from the Cold Storage Company, 
and, probably, be deported from Rhodesia as well, 
that I had upset all the plans of the High Gods, 
and, perhaps more terrible still, thrown the Stock 
Exchange into a fluster. 

A few minutes later one of my general managers, 
the decent one, arrived, very solemn and a little 
nervous. He had received a cable from no less 
a person than the Chairman of the Company, a 
very grave and reverend seigneur, a cable contain- 
ing an ultimatum for myself. The message ran, 
"Desire Hyatt send you a copy pernicious article 
published Financial News on Wednesday must 
supply evidence there is good foundation for state- 
ment coming rebellion if unable to must publish 
withdrawal or resign article forwarded by mail." 
The cable was, of course, in code, but the word 
" pernicious " was put in specially, and, as I took 



228 THE DIARY OF 

good care to let everyone see my copy of the 
message, the adjective at once became famous. 
It appealed to people, and was applied to every- 
thing, especially to the local whisky ; though after- 
wards it was used mainly in connection with my 
oil engine at the cold storage, a particularly noisy 
and evil-smelling brute, which, in all probability, is 
still known as the " pernicious blighter." 

I had not the slightest intention of with- 
drawing or resigning, and I told the managing 
director so, bluntly. Of course, the company could 
discharge me, and thereby risk an indictment of 
itself in the columns of the most powerful financial 
paper in London. I saw the strength of my posi- 
tion at once, especially as I had that copy of the 
cable, and I think I made the most of the cards I 
held. The general manager realised the position 
too, and was very careful to avoid a quarrel. He 
asked me to make a statement for him to repeat 
to the Administrator, but that I refused to do, not 
loving the officials ; on the other hand, I was quite 
willing to tell him privately what I knew about the 
whole native question. He listened very atten- 
tively, and we parted good friends ; moreover, an 
hour later, he told several men in the club that 
" Hyatt had convinced him." 

So far, the victory rested with me, and the 
company said no more about withdrawals or resig- 
nations. But the local press was not so reserved. 
The virulence of the attacks made on me in Salis- 
bury and Bulawayo was equalled only by the weak- 
ness of their grammar. I suppose their editors 
presumed on the fact that I could only sue them 
for libel in a Chartered court before a Chartered 
judge, or they may have reckoned, correctly, that 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 229 

their effusions merely came into the category of 
" vulgar abuse." I hope it amused them, it cer- 
tainly did not hurt me ; whilst I daresay the writers 
were paid as much as ten shillings for a column of 
that stuff, and so were enabled to buy an extra 
bottle of whisky. 

The attitude of Umtali society towards me after 
the " pernicious " affair was very quaint. The 
officials, slavishly anxious to crawl into the good 
graces of their chiefs in Salisbury, frowned heavily 
when I passed. Their assumption of dignity and 
importance had always been amusing, now it be- 
came absolutely ludicrous. I can see them still, 
with their puttee leggings, their hunting stocks, and 
their Afrikander intonation, hurrying into their offices 
so as not to meet the wicked English demagogue. 

My Financial News article was a nine days' 
wonder ; then something else occurred, and it was 
forgotten. Personally, I was inclined to think that, 
on the whole, I had done myself a good deal of 
harm, and done nobody any good, that the native 
rebellion must come, after all. I had won against 
my own company, at least for the time being, 
though I was pretty certain I should get notice 
to quit before very long ; and, in my heart, I 
reckoned I had been a fool. But a month or two 
later I was inclined to change my mind when I 
read in The Gazette that the Secretary for the 
Colonies had ordered the new poll tax law to be 
wiped out of the Statute Book. It seems he had 
Investigated my statements, found them to be 
correct, and stepped in to prevent any further 
mischief being done. 

I was a bitter critic of the Chartered Company 
in those days, and I still hold that all my criticisms 



230 THE DIARY OF 

were warranted ; but, at the same time, in common 
fairness, I must admit that, so far as the general 
policy of the board has been concerned, I have 
found nothing to criticise, and a good deal to admire, 
during later years. 

The cold storage at Umtali was not a success. 
To begin with, the population was too small to 
support a business like that, even if the meat had 
been good, a condition which most of the stuff I 
had did not fulfil. As a matter of fact, a great 
deal of what I had had been allowed to thaw off at 
some remote date, then it had been refrozen, with 
the inevitable result that it had " grown whiskers " 
— in other words, become covered with green mould. 
My chief told me once that meat which had whiskers 
over three inches long is not fit to eat. The rule 
is a perfectly safe one, so far as the company is 
concerned, for I found after repeated experiments 
that two and three quarter inches is the limit attain- 
able. If you take whiskered meat into the sun, 
and rub it vigorously with a soft cloth, you 
remove, not only the mould, but the ugly black 
spots underneath the mould as well. Then the 
quarter or carcass is all right from your point of 
view and the butcher's point of view, whilst, in all 
probability, the consumer attributes his illness to 
something totally different. 

The short history of the Umtali cold storage — it 
ran only about three months — ended in tragedy. 
The oil engine — the pernicious blighter — was a 
trouble from the outset. It never worked satis- 
factorily, and, time after time, I warned the company 
that we should probably have a fatal accident ; but 
my warnings seemed to have no effect, or were not 
believed until one day, just after Amyas had come 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 231 

out from Home to rejoin me, what I had feared 
happened. The heating lamp exploded, burnt my 
engine boy. Coffee, to death, and narrowly escaped 
doing the same for me. I was working beside 
Coffee at the time, and one of my arms was 
scorched by the flames. 

Considering that I was not on the best of terms 
with the authorities, I naturally wanted an inquest 
held, to clear me of responsibility. At first, the 
police demurred, then, when I insisted, they agreed 
to arrange with the magistrate, and let me know 
the date. My astonishment can therefore be 
imagined when, about eleven o'clock on the follow- 
ing day, I heard that the inquest was then being 
held. I was the principal witness, and yet I had 
never been summoned, in fact it was being held 
without any evidence save the proof of death. 
Still, I managed to get up to the court house in 
time, with two other witnesses, and the copies of 
my correspondence about the engine and its 
dangerous - ways. I was exonerated from all 
blame — that was the part I cared about. As for 
the verdict, the magistrate gave none ; but sent 
the papers on to the Attorney General. Rumour 
declared that the latter decided it was a case of 
culpable homicide on the part of the general 
managers, but, if so, nothing more came of it, 
save that the company considered it a good oppor- 
tunity to get rid of me. 

The cold storage was shut down. The meat 
with whiskers was placed in an ordinary covered 
truck — I took the temperature, it was T]° Fahr. — 
and sent to Salisbury, to be frozen yet again. I 
daresay it is there still. I am sure they would 
refuse to admit it anywhere else. 



CHAPTER XXII 

When I went home after the rubber hunt I left 
Amyas to wind up our trading business, to collect 
what he could out of the wreck. I do not know 
to this day how he managed it. Everything was 
against him. Business generally was utterly dis- 
organised ; every day two or three of our cattle 
died on the road ; and yet, somehow or other, he 
contrived to scrape together enough to square up 
every cent we owed in the country itself; and, even 
then, he had enough left to take him Home. 

I know now that it was quixotic folly, that we 
ought to have let the whole thing go when the 
disease first came. Amyas spent the best part of 
a year of his life earning money for a lot of out- 
siders, who squandered the cash on liquor, and 
went bankrupt just the same. An hour of his time 
was worth a month of theirs. It was not that we 
owed so much, but that we were owed so much 
which we never received. Therein lay the trouble. 
We, being young and foolish, tried to act in accord- 
ance with a standard of honour South Africa could 
not understand. In the end, the men we paid 
laughed at us, and, as I say, flung our hard-earned 
money down on the bars of Bulawayo. A year 
later, one, presuming on our supposed softness, 
even had the insolence to come to us with an 
already-paid account of twenty pounds for some 
trek gear, which had arrived after our cattle were 
dead. He tackled us in the lounge of the Palace 

232 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 233 

Hotel in Bulawayo, a long, fair slab of a man he 
was, and then Amyas tackled him. The argument 
was brief, and ended in our pseudo-creditor paying 
for the drinks and burning his account. Poor 
wretch, I can almost pity him now. I suppose 
they had stopped his credit at his favourite bar, 
and he was reckoning on that twenty pounds to 
give him another three weeks' run on a cash 
basis. 

Amyas joined me in Umtali just before the cold 
storage was closed down. He had put in his time 
at home studying assaying, and he brought out with 
him a very nice portable assay kit, oil furnace and 
so on. I suppose it was that which put the idea of 
prospecting into our heads. We had never had the 
gold fever before — I do not know that we had it 
then — but the amended gold laws had made it 
possible for the individual miner to work his own 
property, and, given a decent reef, the chances of 
success were very good. So, when the Cold Storage 
Company paid me off, we decided to go in quest of 
a gold mine of our own, trusting to be able to 
borrow the working capital — when we had found 
what we sought. 

We bought two old bucksails and sewed them 
into a tent, collected a dozen or so natives to carry 
our stuff, and then trekked out eastwards towards 
the Portuguese border. Only five miles from 
Umtali, we found a likely-looking place, a long, 
narrow valley running practically north and south. 
We were pretty certain no one had ever done much 
prospecting through those hills — the rush had carried 
men past them, to the other side of Umtali — so we 
pitched our tent half way up the slope of a wooded 



234 THE DIARY OF 

kopje ; and then set to work to examine the in- 
numerable quartz reefs around us. 

We had typical prospectors' luck. The very first 
rock I broke with my hammer had a fair-sized fleck 
of gold in the fracture. Other pieces of quartz 
lying round showed similar results. But we looked 
in vain for the reef from which these came. We 
put in cross-cut after cross-cut, until our savages 
agreed that we were mad. We tramped backwards 
and forwards on that hillside, until we had to send 
to Umtali for new boots. At last we gave up the 
search there, and decided to go higher up the 
valley. Again we had similar luck. The day we 
moved our camp, Amyas came on a number of 
ancient workings, whilst I found the ruins of an 
ancient fort, half-a-mile away from these. 

It seemed as if we had struck it this time. The 
workings were, of course, all choked up; but the 
waste quartz, which the ancients had thought not 
worth crushing, although they had stacked it into 
neat piles, gave, with a fire assay, results varying 
from five to seven pennyweights of gold to the ton. 
Seeing this, we began to talk of an ounce, or even 
two ounces, in the reef itself, and we immediately 
started to sink a prospecting shaft, intending, or 
rather hoping, to pick up the reef at about sixty 
feet, clean below the ancient workings. 

It was bad ground to sink in, horrible ground, 
tough stuff which would not break, even with 
double or treble charges of dynamite. We took on 
more boys and started day and night shifts, sparing 
ourselves no trouble, dreaming all the time of that 
rich reef below. At the fifty-foot level we struck 
sand, about three feet of it, and thought it curious ; 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 235 

at fifty-five we came to a vein of quartz, only an 
inch thick, but enough to make us hopeful ; at sixty 
feet we were on a bar of diorite, which blunted our 
drills after a few minutes' use, and seemed almost 
unaffected by our dynamite. In a week we sunk a 
foot through that diorite, and then we gave it up, 
reckoning that the reef could not be below it, in fact 
that the whole valley was one huge fault, a weird 
jumble of strata, a conviction which was strengthened 
when we cleared out some of the old workings, and 
found little scraps of reef running in all sorts of 
directions. 

That failure decided us. Our luck was clean out 
so far as Rhodesia was concerned, and we made up 
our minds to leave the country. Only the question 
was — where should we go ? We had tried several 
things already. An application to the Emperor of 
the Sahara, then in the zenith of his fame, had not 
produced any reply. A scheme to go on a trip from 
the Cape to Cairo as an advertisement for various 
quack remedies and patent foods had failed to appeal 
to the companies we approached. They did not 
grasp our idea, and imagined we proposed to sell 
their nauseous compounds to the unfortunate natives 
we met en route, whereas, of course, the idea was 
that they should boom us as their explorers, sent 
out in the interests of science and humanity, that we 
should write startling accounts of the effect of Pink 
Beans on Bilious Blacks, that we should photograph 
each other in places such as the Pigmy Land taking 
what appeared to be their remedies ; in short, that 
we should carry the Light of Quackery into Darkest 
Africa. But all to no purpose. The people we 
approached had no enterprise about them. Their 



236 THE DIARY OF 

ideas of an advertisement were bounded by an un- 
pleasantly worded paragraph in a local paper, 
headed by a worn-out woodcut of what was ap- 
parently a congenital idiot with whiskers. 

For a whole day after we decided to quit prospect- 
ing, we lay on our beds in that big airy tent, and 
evolved futile schemes. Then, towards evening, 
Amyas sat up suddenly. '* Let's go round the world 
on nothing," he said. " We can lecture, both of us ; 
and you can write newspaper articles, whilst I can 
play the banjo." 

I suppose we were in the mood for idiotic things ; 
at anyrate, before we went to sleep we had decided 
to go. We had no money left ; we were sick of the 
country, or at least of our luck in the country ; we 
seemed to have little to lose by going ; and, finally, 
Amyas was set on the idea, and he usually had his 
own way. To say our plans were vague is to put 
it mildly. We had no definite objective, so we de- 
cided to go to St Louis, and see the Exposition, 
trusting to make money by lecturing to the guileless 
American. It did not matter much where we said 
we were going, so long as we got on, eastwards. As 
for lecturing, neither of us had ever spoken a word 
in public, but we trusted to our luck, which, in this 
case, held good. 

A week later, we naa sold our tent and all our 
gear and were on our way to the Victoria Falls, 
which was to be the starting point of our trip. We 
had got passes to the Falls and back, first-class 
passes, representing about sixty pounds in railway 
fares. It was not a bad beginning ; and we owed 
it to the fact that we had found Sir Charles Met- 
calfe in Umtali, and that Amyas had tackled him 




BAOBOB TREE. 




IN THE BUSH VELD. 



I 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 237 

boldly. Somehow, no one ever said " No " to 
Amyas, and the great engineer, the Dictator of 
the South African Railways, did not prove an 
exception. He told a man afterwards that the 
sheer cheek of the thing appealed to him. I 
suppose that was the reason ; at anyrate, he 
frowned, then laughed, and told a secretary to 
make out the passes. So we went to the Falls 
in state, on the first passenger train which ran 
up there. 

I am not writing a book of descriptions, and, even 
if I were, I am not idiotic enough to think I can 
describe the Falls. No man will ever do that 
adequately, just as no man can conceive what they 
are like until he has seen them. They are the 
greatest sight in the world, the most majestic, the 
most beautiful, the most awful. 

We had no money when we arrived at the Falls 
Hotel ; but we took a room, and then we explained 
matters to the manager. He was a decent little 
man, and, in his case too, the cheek of the idea 
appealed to him. He put us up for five days — his 
ordinary charge for that would have been ten 
pounds or more — and when we left he gave us a 
luncheon basket. As a matter of fact, he was only 
the first of several who treated us that way. Where- 
ever we stopped in Rhodesia on that mad tour, we 
had the same experience ; and the only bad memory 
I have of the stage from the Falls to Beira is of 
a most savage and libellous attack made on me 
personally by a Bulawayo paper. The author was 
anonymous — people of that kind are usually shy, 
almost retiring in their manner — but I always 
imagined he was someone who owed me some 



238 THE DIARY OF 

money, or possibly it was a mining contractor, 
now a Great Mining Expert, who had taken offence 
because I would not let him have five hundred bags 
of grain for which he could not pay, and did not 
intend to pay. Soon after that incident, Fame 
came to him in the form of a marvellous escape 
from prosecution for a fraudulent promotion ; and 
Bulawayo recognised him as a genius. He has 
done solid harm to the mining industry, and has 
made great wealth for himself: so I suppose 
he has proved his greatness beyond all question. 
Fortunately, however, the day of that type of man 
is drawing to a close in Rhodesia : the mining in- 
dustry having become a business, instead of a mere 
wild gamble, with knaves as croupiers. 

We gave our first lecture in the hotel at the Falls. 
I am quite sure we made a poor show ; but still it 
seemed to go down. We lectured on ourselves, for 
want of a better subject, and we raised quite a 
decent sum. We did the same at the other towns 
along the line, Bulawayo, Gwelo, Salisbury and 
Umtali ; and, by the time we left the latter place, 
we had got over most of our nervousness, collected 
quite a nice lot of lantern slides, and were in pos- 
session of over sixteen pounds sterling. 

From Umtali, we went down to Beira, in an 
empty goods truck, for, though we had our first- 
class passes, there was not a passenger train for 
several days, and we did not want to waste timej 
and money by delaying in Rhodesia. We were I 
only too anxious to get out of the country, being, 
as I have said, sore over our longf run of mis- 
fortunes. 

It was seven years, to the day, from the time I| 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 239 

entered Rhodesia to the time I quitted it, seven 
years of hard work, and risk, and fever. I had 
made a good deal of money, and lost it all again ; 
and I left the country as I came into it, owning 
nothing but my clothes. Those seven years had 
aged me as much as fourteen would have done 
in another land, for most of them had been spent 
on the frontier, where white man's food is scarce, 
where there are no beds, and often no blankets, 
where the lions gave you the jumps, and the puff 
adders gave you the creeps ; where the natives 
always held your life in their hands, and the fear 
of black-water fever was ever before you, like the 
Shadow of Death across your path. 

I left Rhodesia dead broke ; and yet I love the 
country, and I believe in the country, and were it 
not that my work now lies here, in England, I 
would go back to Rhodesia gladly, to the fresh air, 
and the sunshine, and the guinea-fowl calling in the 
mealie lands. 



CHAPTER XXIII 

Beira was much the same as ever - careless, shame- 
less, rouged in the daylight. We landed there with 
exactly sixteen pounds between us, intending to go 
either to Mauritius or Madagascar, we did not 
greatly care which. We soon learned however that 
the service to the former place was suspended in- 
definitely — apparently when anyone could raise the 
money to leave the East Coast he had the sense 
not to go to the equally detestable sugar island — 
whilst the only way of reaching Madagascar was 
by an ugly, square-sterned little schooner then lying 
off the quay. 

The owner of this craft was also proprietor of a 
combined canteen and marine store, retailing every 
commodity from potato spirit to stolen ships' fittings. 
He was a tall, piratical-looking person, of dark 
complexion, suave manners, and uncertain nation- 
ality, a typical East-Coast Dago, He received us 
effusively, with the greasy cordiality of his kind, and 
assured us that nothing would give him greater plea- 
sure than to have us as passengers. Only, we should 
have to wait a little while, a fortnight perhaps, or a 
month ; for the schooner was undergoing repairs. 
"Still," he added, "a month is nothing — in Beira." 

We thanked him in fitting terms ; but assured 
him that, as we were not Dagos, a month was a 
considerable matter. He did not seem disappointed 
— much though I detest Dagos I will admit that 
they are philosophical — and we learnt later that the 

240 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 241 

repairs were an airy fiction of his own. The crude 
truth was that he had been caught smuggHng gin, 
and his schooner had been confiscated pending 
payment of a fine of five hundred pounds. 

Both Madagascar and Mauritius being out of the 
question, practically the only alternative left us was 
Durban. True, the Durban authorities required 
deposits of twenty pounds cash before they would 
allow anyone to land at their port ; but that sort of 
law applies only to the poorly clad ; and we were 
always well dressed. Still, we had a week to wait 
before the German steamer would be in, and whilst 
a stay in Beira is a penance even to those who have 
money, it is a veritable misery to those who have to 
economise. It beats Palapye even for its thirst-pro- 
ducing qualities. 

We stayed at a cheap hotel down on the beach, 
a place patronised by such of the unemployed 
British as could still obtain credit from its German 
proprietor. The manager was a young Englishman 
who had been bitten badly with the treasure-hunt- 
ing mania, and after we had been in the place a 
couple of days he made us an offer of a partnership 
in a great secret. It appeared that a few months 
previously some old prospector, finding himself 
dying in the hotel, had confided to the manager his 
knowledge of some wonderful city in West Africa, 
where there was an immense store of ancient manu- 
scripts, as well as a golden eagle which had been 
taken in the second century from a Roman legion. 
The manager's scheme was for the three of us to 
make our way round to the West Coast, raise a 
band of natives, and loot this unnamed town. It 
was an alluring scheme, quite romantic in its way, 
Q 



242 THE DIARY OF 

only it had one weak point — the nearest description 
we could get as to the position of the place was that 
it was between Kordofan and Timbuctoo. So, 
reluctantly, we had to let our chance of fortune and 
glory go by. 

For a week we sat on rickety chairs on an even 
more rickety verandah, and wondered how most of 
the people managed to live. Everyone, from the 
leading barkeeper downwards, was short of money ; 
for the glory of Beira, and its trade as well, had de- 
parted five years previously, when the railway con- 
struction was finished. The only business left was 
that of forwarding material for the Cape to Cairo 
line. No one ever paid a debt ; no one ever 
appeared to be really sober, despite the fact that 
liquor was abnormally dear. In our hotel, two or 
three obviously penniless loafers spent the whole day 
tossing for drinks, the loser always signing a card, 
which the proprietor seemed to consider as worth 
its face value. One could go into any bar and 
sign cards for drinks, a complete stranger being 
given credit as readily as an old resident, more 
readily perhaps. Very possibly someone in Beira 
is still cherishing cards of mine. 

Once a man sank below a certain level in Beira 
he found it almost impossible to rise again. His 
debts prevented him from leaving ; and when he 
did chance to get work his pay went towards old 
accounts. As he grew more hopeless, so the effect 
of the climate and fever became greater, and probably 
in the end he went the way of the majority of white 
men whose ill-luck has taken them to the Sink of 
the East Coast. 

The Daofos' means of livelihood were even more 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 243 

mysterious than those of the British. The mixed 
rascality round the harbour was always ill-shaven 
and unwashed, yet it never appeared to be hungry 
or without a cigarette ; and, but for the fact of its 
being sober, one would never have suspected its 
poverty. Yet it must have been desperately poor, 
for it did no work, save a little fishing, and even 
then it seemed to eat all it caught. We, ourselves, 
were amongst the unemployed of Beira. We 
wandered round their haunts, were accepted by 
them as being of their own kind, yet, when we left, 
we knew as little of them as they did of us. No 
one seemed to learn anything of his neighbour's 
business, how he contrived to live, why he had 
come to Beira, and why he had not fled when he 
discovered what a forsaken spot it was. 

The Sultan, an old and dirty German steamer, 
wheezed into the harbour at last, and we went 
aboard with very real pleasure. We were, of 
necessity, steerage passengers ; and we were pre- 
pared to find our quarters the reverse of palatial. 
This was fortunate ; otherwise we might have got a 
shock. A Goanese steward, barefooted and greasy, 
conducted us down a companion way to the 'tween 
decks. As we descended, a varied odour, a mixture 
of every nasty smell ever imagined, struck us fairly. 

It was a peculiar scent, and it conjured up 
memories of a weird mixture of scenes. At one 
moment, it was the coal porters at Port Said toiling 
up the narrow gangway in a seemingly endless 
stream ; an instant later, a whiff of hot air from the 
engine-room, heavy with the smell of oil, carried 
me back to old days in a Midland machine works ; 
a faint indescribable odour of cooked food — curry, 



244 THE DIARY OF 

rice and a dozen strange dishes dear to the heart of 
the Oriental — and one was in the back slums of an 
Eastern town ; whilst through it all the unmistak- 
able reek of Portuguese tobacco reminded one 
clamorously of those uncleanly, low-roofed Dago 
eating houses which abound in every seaport south 
of the equator. Our guide led us down a narrow 
alley way, through a bulkhead door, into the 
'tween decks, abaft the engine-room. The greater 
part of the space was given up to Indians, called by 
courtesy "deck passengers," and it was from these 
that the more unpleasant constituents of the reek 
came. Men, women and children, in every stage 
of dress and undress, were lying about the filthy 
deck. A few port-holes let in a certain amount of 
light and air, apparently sufficient for the needs of 
the Orientals, who seemed perfectly satisfied with 
their quarters. Some were preparing food, others 
busily engaged in devouring the unwholesome- 
looking contents of their brass pots. In the 
middle, on the hatches, some well-thumbed packs 
of cards furnished an unending source of occupation. 
A few appeared to pass their whole time in reading 
aloud, in a low, irritating monotone, from some 
religious book ; whilst the older men, having pegged 
out locations by spreading sleeping mats in the more 
desirable spots, contentedly slept the hours away. 

It was the " Gorgeous East" that the poets are 
so fond of praising ; but it sadly needed washing, 
whilst a little chloride of lime or carbolic powder 
would have been a welcome addition to the atmo- 
sphere. The Gorgeous East, in its own country 
and under its own conditions, may be fascinating 
and picturesque ; but in the 'tween decks of a small 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 245 

German steamer it degenerates into a highly 
flavoured nuisance. A thin partition, a mere tem- 
porary wall of matchboard, neither sound proof nor 
smell proof, divided the stern portion, the third- 
class quarters, from the Indians' dwelling place. 
The light was dim and the air stifling, for the even- 
ing was coming on, and the ship was still at her 
anchorage in that breathless, sweltering harbour 
of Beira. Our state-room was certainly roomy, 
although scarcely luxurious, whilst the fact of its 
being directly over the screw promised some lively 
experiences in the event of our striking bad weather. 
In the centre, between two stanchions, a few planks 
had been fixed to form a rough table, on each side 
of which ran an equally primitive form — that was 
where we dined. Another bench, of similar design, 
served as pantry ; a dozen rough china mugs, a 
few equally primitive plates, and some unreason- 
ably blunt knives and battered forks and spoons 
formed the table equipment. On the starboard 
side were the bunks, little iron cots arranged side 
by side in two tiers, whilst in the corner was a pile 
of mattresses, pillows and rugs, from which the 
passenger was free to make a selection. We looked 
at these doubtfully, and lit a match to see if they 
were intended to be grey or white. We found the 
latter had been the original colour, years before, so 
decided to sleep on deck ; for, though we were look- 
ing for items of interest, those bedclothes seemed to 
promise more items, exciting items, than we needed. 
Luckily, we had our own blankets with us. Mean- 
while, our fellow-passengers were regarding us 
with interest, for we were clean, well dressed, and 
obviously English, conditions which they themselves 



246 THE DIARY OF 

did not fulfil. There were a dozen of them seated 
round the table playing cards, or sleeping in the 
narrow, stuffy little cots. During the three days 
we spent in their company we tried to sort them 
out into nationalities, but without success. There 
were Portuguese, Italians, Greeks and Spaniards, so 
the steward said ; but which was which we could not 
decide ; for all were unshaven, dirty and voluble, 
their language apparently being some weird lingua 
franca which all understood; so, at last, we ceased *^ 
from worrying, and sized them up, generally and 
correctly, as Dagos. They were not bad fellows, 
except for their uncleanliness and dislike for fresh 
air ; and, so far as small courtesies went, such as 
the offering of cigarettes and tobacco, could give a 
lesson in manners to any crowd of northern steer- 
age passengers. We sat down to supper with a 
certain morbid curiosity as to the possible badness 
of the food. The latter, however, proved to be 
eatable, although the knives provided were never 
intended to cut East-Coast beef, the firm in the 
Fatherland which manufactured them having, ap- 
parently, put in pewter blades, instead of steel ; at 
anyrate I broke mine over the first piece of meat I 
tackled. The tea and coffee were excellent, and 
though the rest of the fare was over-cooked, and 
nastily served, there was no cause for complaint ; 
except as regards one cheese, and that will linger 
in my memory for a long while. It was not of that 
virulent type which enters the room noisily and is 
promptly ejected to the accompaniment of appro- 
priate comments. There was nothing coarse or 
aggressive about this specimen ; it was small and 
unpretentious, almost an apologetic-looking cheese 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 247 

— until one tried to eat it. It came out of a tin, so 
the steward said, and presumably he knew ; cer- 
tainly, nobody would have lived in the same house 
with it, unless it had been hermetically sealed ; and 
the tin must have been very thick to be stronger 
than its contents. It was quite harmless at first 
sight, just a small cone of greenish-white paste. A 
Dago eyed it hungrily, then stretched out, cut a 
small piece and put it in his mouth. An instant later 
there was a vacant seat at the table, and a violently 
spluttering head thrust through a port-hole. The 
immediate neighbours of the victim gasped feebly, 
and turned as pale as their unwashed condition 
would allow. A sickly odour, which grew stronger 
every moment, was wafted along the table. One 
by one the Dagos rose from their seats, and re- 
o-arded the thing;' from a safe distance. We were 
Britishers and could not be scared by a mere 
cheese. But at last I gave in, and left Amyas to 
face it alone. I saw his face grow stern, as he 
nerved himself for a final effort. Then, deliber- 
ately, he leaned forward, seized the offending article 
with a firm grip, and, amidst the applause of the 
Dagos, hurled it through the port-hole. 

The trip proved utterly devoid of incident. At 
Delagoa Bay we lost all but one of our Dagos, 
and twenty-four hours later we were rolling heavily 
outside Durban Bar, awaiting the pilot. 

We had been fearing trouble, owing to the fact 
of our being unable to produce the twenty-pound 
deposits required by the Immigration Department, 
but we had made up our minds to bluff it through ; 
so we dressed ourselves carefully in immaculate 
white ducks, and, presenting our cards to the 



248 THE DIARY OF 

Immigration officer, demanded permits to land. 
The man just glanced at us, and without a 
moment's hesitation handed us the slips ; although, 
a few minutes later, he absolutely declined to allow 
our fellow-passenger, the one remaining Dago, off 
the ship. 

We had both been in Durban before, but beyond 
the fact that the hotels were bad and expensive, 
the atmosphere stuffy and enervating, and the 
people congenitally tired, we had carried away 
little knowledge of the place. However, before 
we had been a week in the town, we had learned 
many things. Durban may be described as a 
municipal council, a Government railway office, 
and some aggressive religious bodies, with, in- 
cidentally, a town attached to them. The council, 
the railway, and the Nonconformist caucuses form 
a powerful organisation which exercises an unfor- 
tunate influence on both public and social life. 

Considering the state of our finances, we decided 
to leave hotels alone ; for we knew that the Durban 
managers would refuse us free accommodation, as 
the law would not allow us to follow our Rhodesian 
precedent, and give lectures in the dining-rooms. 
Moreover, we quickly found that Durban men 
avoided going into hotels, for fear of getting a bad 
name amongst the elect who fill the seats of the 
mighty. The town does its drinking secretly, 
publicly expressing its horror of the liquor it con- 
sumes privately, and, as South African whisky is 
invariably bad, perhaps there is a certain amount 
of reason in the practice ; whilst the man who 
helps to finish these abominable brands is also 
worthy of praise. In the circumstances, we decided 
that a cheap boarding house would suit us best, 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 249 

and had no difficulty in finding what we wanted. 
Having settled that matter, and made sure that 
our landlady did not want payment in advance, 
we started out to find a suitable hall for a lecture. 
Unfortunately, as has been explained, Durban is 
a peculiar place ; and at the time of our landing it 
was in the throes of an emotionalist revival mania, 
initiated by a travelling charlatan, who, besides 
an undoubted gift of eloquence, possessed a lively 
imagination, a fine genius for invective, and limit- 
less assurance. He had been extremely successful 
in depleting the pockets of the Durban public, and 
we saw that, beside him, our efforts would seem 
dull and commonplace. 

The only feasible plan seemed to be one which 
would bring us under the direct protection of the 
ultra-pious section. We therefore determined to 
appear in Durban as serious and high-toned 
lecturers, with educational aims and a distinct 
tendency to bore our audiences, that being, ap- 
parently, the attitude most likely to find favour 
amongst the good people of the Natal capital. 
We strolled up West Street, the principal thorough- 
fare of the town, and as we passed the town hall, 
noticed that some species of municipal election was 
in progress. We walked on, in aimless fashion, 
almost to the Berea, the fashionable quarter of 
Durban. As we stood on the curb, waiting for a 
tram to take us back, a carriage, bright with 
election colours, drove up, and the driver, with 
a thick-voiced familiarity born of much whisky, 
asked if we wished to go and vote at the town 
hall. Thanking him for his offer, we got into the 
musty vehicle, and a few minutes later arrived at 
the polling place. One of the agents of the candi- 



250 A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 

date whose colours were on our carriage greeted 
us effusively, whilst his rival hovered round trying 
to find an opportunity of speaking. Wishing to 
learn more of the issues at stake, we managed to 
get both agents to expound their principals' views 
and discovered, naturally, that the only difference 
between them lay in their divergent views as to 
the best way of wasting the ratepayers' money. 
We heard their arguments out, then suggested 
that, as both the candidates were so excellent, we 
should vote for both. This proposition, reasonable 
though it seemed, appeared to have a most annoy- 
ing effect on our friends. One muttered some 
impolite insinuations regarding our sanity, and 
departed to attend to a more promising subject; 
whilst the other, the agent of the carriage-hiring 
candidate, demanded our names, stating, with most 
unnecessary emphasis, his belief that we were not 
ratepayers at all. We endeavoured to pacify him, 
pointing out that it made our wish to vote the more 
meritorious, because, although we had no conceiv- 
able interest in the election, we were, none the 
less, ready to please each candidate by giving him 
two extra votes, which otherwise he could not 
possibly have got. However, we failed to appease 
the man, who, despite his respectable appearance, 
proved to have a most varied and comprehensive 
vocabulary. He was still engaged in stating his 
candid opinion of the mental capacity of our 
ancestors when a policeman, catching the drift 
of his eloquence, moved him on with great sudden- 
ness, and he disappeared from our view, involved 
in a heated argument with the guardian of the 
peace. So ended our one and only attempt to aid 
the municipal government of Durban. 



CHAPTER XXIV 

Durban may have some good points. I have 
heard several people, who know it better than I 
do, declare that it has many, although they never 
descended to details. Personally, I am still un- 
convinced ; although I may be prejudiced, for, on 
the last occasion, Amyas and I landed there with 
three pounds between us, and with no chance oi 
leaving until we had earned enough to carry us on 
to Mauritius. 

One good look round the town — its hoardings 
covered with revival posters, its leading citizens 
perspiring in ill-cut suits of black — was enough to 
send us back to our lodgings feeling pretty mournful ; 
and our spirits were not raised by the necessity, the 
urgent and clamorous necessity, of sharing our room 
with a number of fellow-lodgers, whom we impaled 
on darning needles. In the morning, however, 
we got some luck, for the first man we saw in the 
dining-room was a prospector from Mashonaland, 
a dear old chap, grey as a badger, gruff and kindly 
as a sheepdog. He knew Durban well, and he 
talked sense. He said we must put ourselves 
unreservedly in the hands of the serious section, 
that we must describe ourselves as educational 
lecturers, stodgy and dull, and that then the dull 
and stodgy people would take us to their hearts and 
help us along. It sounded wise and unpalatable 
advice, so we took it. We soon found the right 
people, or those who claimed to be the right ones. 
251 



252 THE DIARY OF 

They belonged to various associations ; they wore 
little badges in their buttonholes ; they did not 
smoke or drink ; in short, they were oppressively 
good ; but still, they promised much, and they 
seemed to know the ropes. 

The first problem was to find a hall. On this 
point we took our mentors' advice. The Good 
Templars' Hall was the very place, they said. We 
could have it for three guineas a night. All the 
elect would come to it, and, if we left things to 
them, they would find us an audience without our 
having to go into the street to look for the ordinary 
sinner. It sounded good, especially as the fee 
for the hall was not payable in advance ; whilst, 
through their introduction, we got their especial 
newspaper to print our posters on credit, no 
small thing, considering the state of our finances. 
The whole arrangement was very comforting; 
and though a request that any surplus might be 
given to some local society, of the Endeavouring 
kind, staggered us a little by its splendid im- 
pudence, we passed that over. Still, there were 
drawbacks. 

Only the Good Templars themselves knew 
where the hall was ; the man in the street had 
never heard of it. Moreover, the public hates 
labels, and the very name of the place suggested 
grim fanaticism. But yet we did not worry, having 
got everything on credit, and, believing that our 
promised audience would be found, we tried, with 
very fair success, to catch the tone of our sponsors, 
and Amyas composed a special lecture which ought 
to have suited them. They said our show should 
be educational ; and on the night we found it was 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 253 

so — to us. They sold us a pup, or rather a whole 
litter, which ran round that good hall and barked at 
us. We had hired their room, and after letting it to 
us, and incidentally letting us in, their interest in 
us ceased ; and they arranged a rival performance 
in another part of the same building. 

To start with, we found no hallkeeper, no one 
to manage the electric light or assist in rigging up 
the magic lantern. However, we set to work our- 
selves ; but hardly had we started when a swarm of 
what were presumably Good Templars invaded the 
hall, and ordered us to clear out. It seemed they 
were going to initiate somebody into something. 
When they had departed, after hearing what they 
seemed to consider was an unjust estimate of them- 
selves, they began to play tricks with the electric 
light switchboard. That, also, had to be stopped. 
Then they broke out in a fresh place. We had 
found a kind of altar, which made an excellent 
pedestal for the lantern, and had fixed this up, and 
were trying the light, when an excited youth dashed 
in and declared they must have it. They could not 
initiate without it. Still, they had to try. Amyas 
declared they used it to break bottles of whisky on, 
as a sign of their abhorrence of drink ; but a reporter 
from The Natal Mercury pointed out that there was 
no sort of a tray underneath it. 

The audience dribbled in slowly ; the promised 
volunteer doorkeepers and stewards never arrived ; 
and I had to take the gate myself. We got a house 
of seventy in all, and of these not five belonged to 
the class which had promised so much. Of course, 
we lost money on the lecture, or we should have 
lost it, had we not made a composition with our 



254 THE DIARY OF 

creditors. At least, we called it a composition — we 
never heard the other side's view — and I recommend 
the plan confidently to other lecturers. It was 
simple in the extreme. We just wrote letters 
containing many of those kind words which never 
die, and gave as our address the post office box 
of a man we particularly disliked. 

We lectured two or three times more in Durban, 
and I sold a few short stories and articles, just 
enough to pay for deck passages across to Mauritius. 
We were nearly a month in the Natal port, waiting 
for a steamer, a dry and rather hungry time. There 
is nothing picturesque about the place, nothing of 
the slightest interest. Its poverty is of a drab 
kind ; its unemployed have no salient characteristic, 
save their hatred of South Africa. They have 
drifted there, and they want to get away, to a white 
man's land — that is their story. 

The deck passenger usually does not have a very 
good time — we learnt that later — but on the Clan 
steamer which took us to Mauritius we had no cause 
for complaint. Rather otherwise, in fact. The 
skipper was, they said, the oldest master mariner 
afloat. That may have been so ; at anyrate he was a 
charming old gentleman, as well as a fine seaman. 
He had commanded one of Green's clippers in the 
days when the Australian mails still went out by 
windjammer, and yet he had lived to be master of 
a great cow of a turret steamer, a huge and hideous 
cargo-tank, the exact opposite of the beautifully pro- 
portioned craft of his younger days. I hope he is 
still alive, I hope he will live many years yet, 
because he is of a type the nation can ill afford to 
lose. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 255 

There were no spare cabins ; but the old man 
gave me a sofa in the chart-room, and gave Amyas 
a berth in his own inner cabin. The other 
passengers had to shift as best they could. None 
of them was white, the majority consisting of 
representatives of the Gorgeous East, as was 
evident from the fact that they wore their 
shirts outside their trousers, and sadly needed a 
wash. 

The steamer was to stay four days at Delagoa 
Bay, and we had reckoned on giving a lecture there ; 
but a very little investigation made us change our 
minds. The Portuguese are not patrons of the arts. 
They believe in killing the goose which lays the 
golden eggs, knowing perhaps that, otherwise, the 
bird will be wise enough to get away from their 
clutches. They will destroy a growing industry 
in order to obtain a little ready cash. Perhaps 
it is going a little too far to speak of lecturing 
as an industry, for it is really a penance ; but 
still, the Portuguese treat it as though it were 
one. 

The way of the would-be entertainer in Delagoa 
Bay is hard. He must hire the theatre for a mini- 
mum of two nights at a maximum rate. The house 
is ridiculously small, but five of the best seats must 
be reserved for the Governor, who is always a dead- 
head, and three for the refreshment contractor, who 
is also too great to pay. The chief of the Fire 
Brigade must be paid to attend, and he may bring, 
at your expense, as many of his staff as he likes. 
Every ticket sold must bear a revenue stamp, and 
you must pay a high official to come and affix these 
stamps ; moreover, each of your advertisements 



256 THE DIARY OF 

must bear a hunclred-reis stamp. In short, every- 
thing stampable must be stamped, and every official 
who wants to come must be paid to do so ; and 
if, after the entertainment, you have any surplus, 
some German hotelkeeper will probably get it out 
of you. Consequently, it is not surprising that 
the entertainment business languishes somewhat 
on that strip of coast. 

The neighbourhood of Mauritius is famous for 
cyclones. They breed some of the finest in the 
world round there ; but, fortunately, when we 
arrived it was not the season ; otherwise, in a five- 
thousand-ton ship with only four hundred tons of 
cargo in her, things might have been a trifle various. 
The island of Reunion, whose great peaks we saw 
dimly through an evening haze, had been visited 
by one of these storms four months before, and we 
heard that the inhabitants were still picking up the 
pieces of their houses and of their friends. It is 
a cheerful neighbourhood as, in addition to the 
playful cyclone, they have the fear of the equally 
pleasant volcano, for, though most of the craters 
are apparently extinct, one, that of Bourbon, is very 
much alive, and serves to remind the dwellers in 
those parts that, at any moment, the whole lot may 
resume operations, and perform the great Mount 
Pelee trick, with appropriate accompaniments of 
fire and lava. 

The best view of Mauritius is obtained from a 
ship, especially when the ship is going away. The 
island, a mere lava heap thinly coated with soil, is 
little over seven hundred square miles in extent. 
Generally speaking, it is flat, although, here and 
there, tall kopjes, ending in needlelike pinnacles, 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 257 

rise with startling abruptness out of the plain. 
Round Port Louis, the principal town, these hills 
form a rude semicircle, which looks strangely like 
the remaining half of a huge crater, the completing 
portion being lost in the sea. The situation of the 
town, as viewed from the water, is very picturesque, 
and the new-comer's first impression will probably 
be favourable, although he will certainly acknow- 
ledge the unreliability of such hasty judgments 
after he has been a few minutes on shore ; still, the 
situation is fine. The great frowning hills seem 
to overhang and threaten the town at their foot. 
Their summits are bare rock, black and unpromis- 
ing ; but the lower slopes are covered with bush, 
which appears to run down and mingle with the 
roofs of the houses. Of the latter, few are visible ; 
for, the town being on a flat plain, the larger build- 
ings round the quays hide most of those behind ; 
and, as a large proportion of the houses are mere 
one-storeyed hovels. Port Louis appears, at first, 
to consist merely of a few substantial stone ware- 
houses, with a church or two scattered amongst tall 
trees. On either side, a long, low neck of land, 
covered with scrub, runs out into the sea, rendering 
the anchorage fairly safe, except when the annual 
cyclones come along. The ships, moored in parallel 
lines by bow and stern cables, give a workmanlike 
neatness to the harbour ; whilst innumerable un- 
gainly schooners lying beside the quays add a 
touch of quaintness to the whole. 

Incoming ships have to anchor outside Port 
Louis Harbour in order to await the medical 
inspection. The place prides itself on being more 
thorough in its medical examination than any other 



258 THE DIARY OF 

port in the world ; and if dilatory methods, madden- 
ing delays, and utterly unnecessary precautions 
constitute thoroughness, then Port Louis is doubt- 
less unsurpassed, and it is much to be hoped it will 
long continue to hold the premier position. The 
ship anchored about eleven, having been signalled 
a couple of hours previously. At half-past three 
the doctor deigned to come off. He had a whisky 
and soda with the skipper, then took down the 
names, addresses and ages of the passengers. 
After that, the crew was mustered ; the doctor 
glanced at it, nodded his head, and retired for 
another whisky. That finished, he again took 
down the names, addresses and ages of the 
passengers, and then departed, after informing 
the captain that, as he had a clean bill of health, 
he would probably be given pratique the following 
day, when the ship had been disinfected. The 
gang charged with the latter job did not arrive 
till the following morning ; but the fine array of 
pumps and sprayers which they brought amply 
compensated for the delay. They sprayed every- 
thing and everybody with a futile, purposeless zeal 
worthy of a better cause. They dipped our linen, 
or as much of it as we gave them, in a solution of 
corrosive sublimate ; they sprayed the soles of our 
boots, and they sprayed the crew's bedding ; they 
disinfected the coloured passengers with a fervent 
thoroughness which should have brought them 
blessings, but, unfortunately, man is frail and some 
pretty vivid curses were their sole reward, where- 
upon they disinfected the swearers a second time. 
They were indefatigable in their search for microbes 
which could not exist ; and we came to the con- 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 259 

elusion that the people of Port Louis must indeed 
be a clean race ; although, when we landed, we 
discovered that the town was one bold, bad smell, 
rotten with plague, small-pox and half-a-dozen 
other unsavoury diseases, and that, instead of 
disinfecting the ship, they should have cleansed 
the streets in preparation for our landing. But 
as yet that was hidden from us. The disinfecting 
finished, the doctor came aboard once more ; and 
after accepting a couple of whiskies and sodas, and 
once more taking the names, addresses and ages 
of the passengers, he granted the ship pratique, 
exactly twenty-six hours after she had entered the 
harbour with a clean bill of health, fourteen days 
out from a clean port. And yet they wonder why 
skippers rise up and call Mauritius anything but 
blessed. 

Port Louis is a place which it is necessary to 
see in order to appreciate ; and, even then, it 
is doubtful whether the appreciation will be very 
hearty, unless the visitor be a bacteriologist in 
search of specimens. Its chief characteristics are 
the smells. Each street has a different one ; as 
you turn a corner a fresh reek catches you and 
tries to drive you back. They are not ordinary 
smells, those of Port Louis, no mere inoffensive 
odours, mildly suggestive of a distant dead cat ; 
but fierce, clamorous stenches, redolent of every 
germ from bubonic plague to Rinderpest, the con- 
glomerate nastiness of a hopelessly mixed popula- 
tion drawn from every quarter of the globe, a 
population without the crudest notion of sanitation, 
or, even, of common decency, a population as ignorant 
as it is uncleanly, as immoral as it is objectionable. 



260 THE DIARY OF 

The smells are of many breeds and have 
many moods. There are the Creole smells, noisy, 
blatant and excitable ; the Indian smells, mild, 
insinuating and heavy with plague ; the African 
smells, crude and fierce, with a strong antipathy 
to white men. They are all quietest in the early 
morning, although as the sun rises they, too, 
awake to life and activity, and take their part, a 
very noticeable part, in the daily round. Towards 
evening they retire, presumably to restock them- 
selves with microbes ; for at nightfall they are out 
once more, defiant and riotous ; and even when 
the last belated Creole has returned to his virtuous 
and insect- haunted couch, and every policeman is 
sleeping peacefully on a doorstep, those smells still 
parade the streets, masters of the situation. 

After the first shock is past, and the visitor's 
nostrils have recovered somewhat, he is able to 
notice the other peculiarities of Port Louis. The 
town, which is still the capital and sole business 
centre, was formerly the principal residential part 
as well. The big planters, descendants of the old 
French settlers, had their houses in its neighbour- 
hood, and it must once have been a very different 
place. It is said that malaria was unknown in the 
island until Indian labourers were imported to 
replace the emancipated slaves, who refused to 
work on the soil. Be that as it may, it is certain 
that Port Louis has been steadily growing more 
and more unhealthy, and that to-day it is quite 
unfit for white habitation. Some twenty years 
back, the richer people gradually began to leave 
the town for the higher lands, and communities 
sprang up all along the Midland Railway line. In 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 261 

1892 came the great cyclone, which reduced half 
the town to ruins. Very few of the better-class 
houses were left intact, and none of those destroyed 
were rebuilt. The fire of 1893, which completed 
the work of the cyclone, gave the final blow to 
Port Louis as a residential place, and when I was 
there the only white inhabitants consisted of two 
or three unfortunate Englishmen whose duties 
rendered it impossible for them to live elsewhere. 
All the rest of the forty-eight thousand inhabitants 
were coloured — Creoles, Indians, Arabs, Chinese 
and negroes, a dirty, nondescript crew, whose sole 
medium of conversation was a most vile bastard 
French. 

The dominant note in the town is squalor. Not 
the picturesque dirtiness such as one sees in Naples 
or Zanzibar, but sheer poverty and filth. The 
streets are narrow and littered with garbage. 
Fowls innumerable loiter about the pavements, 
apparently owned by no one, and having no object 
in life save that of getting in the way of passers-by. 
There are not many dogs, but such as one sees are, 
without exception, in a truly ghastly condition from 
mange. They wander about homeless, and master- 
less, picking up a living in the gutters ; spending 
their nights in barking at the drains, which, in turn, 
growl back at them. Curiously enough, the horses 
in the public carriages are, usually, of very decent 
quality ; and may be said to form the one respectable 
section of the Port Louis community. The cabmen 
are a cheerful lot of blackofuards, who never hao-ale 
over a fare, and never tout for custom. Each one 
is accompanied by a barefooted imp, whose sole 
function seems to be to keep his master awake by 



262 THE DIARY OF 

an unceasing flow of Creole wit, a process which, a 
stranger would imagine, must be painful rather than 
amusino-. The streets swarm with cake sellers, 
who yell and shake rattles with an unwearying 
persistence, which is the more praiseworthy from 
the fact that they never appear to sell anything. 

Round the quays are warehouses stocked with 
dried fish. Apparently most of the latter had been 
dead some weeks before any attempt was made 
to cure them. They come from the island of 
Rodriguez, and the fact of their exporting them 
argues good sense on the part of the people of 
that place. They tie them into bales with stout 
cord, probably because they are afraid that, other- 
wise, they would return home on their own. The 
man who exposed similar fish for sale in England 
would be prosecuted for causing a disorderly crowd 
to assemble ; but in Mauritius men pass by calmly, 
without even holding their noses. 

The shipping trade is, of course, the principal 
business of Port Louis ; and, but for that, there 
would be no reason for the continued existence of 
the place. The Mauritians certainly make the 
most of what goods they have to handle. The 
sugar, the main export, is carted about from dock 
to dock, from lighter to train, with what appears 
to be a purposeless, feverish haste ; it is handled 
and rehandled ; it is rushed about by snorting, 
stinking traction engines, and brought back in 
queer little mule trollies ; and it is weighed in 
scales which might have been used for the forage 
in the Ark, and checked and rechecked by a swarm 
of clerks who would do credit to any Zoo ; finally 
it is towed away in grotesque, wedge-shaped 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 263 

lighters by a venerable relic of a tug which can 
be compared to nothing- but a County Council 
steamer. 

After the sugar export trade, the publishing of 
newspapers is the principal industry of the island. 
Any man who can buy an old printing press, or 
even a set of stencils, starts a newspaper. At the 
last census there were twenty-eight editors in Port 
Louis ; and, although I actually unearthed only 
twelve journals, I was told that number was below 
the normal, possibly because six editors were in 
gaol. How they all make a living is a mystery ; 
not by advertisements, certainly, for there is nothing 
to advertise ; and the record circulation is only 
fifteen hundred copies. With one exception, they 
are all published in French. Some are clever, 
some merely scurrilous ; but all are, more or less, 
anti-British. 

The residential portion of Mauritius is now in 
the higher land along the Midland line. There 
are some half-dozen small settlements, the principal 
of which is Curepipe, fifteen miles out of Port 
Louis. They are mostly pretty, in a negative 
sort of fashion, and contain some good houses, 
but possess no special interest of any sort. The 
railway, on the other hand, is well worthy of study ; 
a fact of which the railway officials are evidently 
aware, for they allow the traveller plenty of time 
in which to observe its working. An eloquent 
testimony to the unwholesomeness of Port Louis 
is found in the fact of people being willing to 
travel daily backwards and forwards on that line, 
rather than live in the capital. The railroad is a 
Government enterprise, built with money borrowed 



264 THE DIARY OF 

from the Home authorities, and managed chiefly 
by Mauritians. There is plenty of traffic, and, in 
capable hands, it is difficult to see how the line 
could fail to be a success. As it is, however, it 
would shock even a Chatham & Dover director. 
The rolling stock is the first thing which catches 
your eye. Most of the carriages are two-deckers, 
with narrow, stuffy little first and second class com- 
partments underneath, and narrower and stuffier 
little thirds on top. They creak and groan on the 
slightest provocation, and the traveller heaves a 
sigh of relief when he arrives at his destination and 
finds the coach is still holding together. From 
outward appearances, they must have been through 
many cyclones during the last fifty years, and it 
is much to be regretted that one of these did not 
bear them away bodily. But the engines are even 
more fascinating. I could sit and look at those 
engines for hours, and dream of the days when 
my grandparents were young. I used to weave 
romances round those venerable links with the 
days of Watt and Stephenson, and wonder what 
stories they could tell, if they could only speak, 
instead of spitting, fizzling and shaking their hoary 
frames in a vain attempt to pull two decrepit 
coaches. Sometimes I completely lost myself in 
the past, so aged did those locomotives seem, and 
pictured a driver and fireman in chain mail pricking 
the after end of the engine with their spears ; and 
then I would awake with a start to the reality of a 
British foreman volubly cursing the uncleanly ways 
of the Mauritian representatives of the armour-clad 
men of my dreams. 

It takes two of those engines, one behind and 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 265 

\^ne in front, to propel half-a-dozen coaches. The 
train jogs along with the tottering uncertainty of 
extreme old age, taking long waits in the stations 
in order to recover its breath. They fear to start 
again suddenly, after one short, shrill whistle from 
the guard, as is the custom with younger and more 
virile trains, so, after five or ten minutes' rest, the 
conductor blows a faint, tentative, half-apologetic 
blast ; then, after another wait, he gives a further 
hint, a little louder, and then again and again, five 
blasts in all. By that time the engines are fully 
awake, the front one whistles wearily to the back 
one, which responds grudgingly, and, after one last 
screech from the guard, the train jogs on once 
more. Such is the regulation method of starting ; 
but it is not always adhered to. Often, when the 
train has apparently started off in earnest, it slows 
down, stops with a rattle and jerk, and runs back 
into the station, for the sole purpose of allowing 
each of the engines to whistle once more ; then it 
will finally dash off at a full ten miles an hour, the 
last burst of whistling having stirred those old 
engines into something like their vigour of half-a- 
century ago. The habit of having a locomotive 
at each end leads to much confusion ; for the trains 
are never sure which way they are supposed to go ; 
and, as often as not, they start off in the wrong 
direction, in which case a porter has to run after 
them, and persuade them to return. 

Mauritian trains have one virtue ; they are never 
late. If they come in apparently after time, the 
station clock is just put back until it tallies with 
their advertised time of arrival. I commend this 
plan to the directors of the South Coast lines. 



266 THE DIARY OF 

The most venerable object in Mauritius is the 
great tortoise, who lives in the line barracks on 
a pension of a rupee a week. They say he is over 
three hundred and fifty years old ; he certainly 
seems it, a huge, ungainly brute, with as much 
grace of shape as a hippopotamus or a baobab- 
tree. He looks decidedly weary, and, could he 
but speak, he would probably vote existence a 
bore and the creole a beast, and bewail the days 
of his youth, before man's footsteps and man's 
smells defiled the island, when he and the dodo 
were the leaders of Mauritian society. Even at 
that remote time, however, that tortoise can hardly 
have been frolicsome. The dodo has gone. 
Perhaps he was a rackety creature, whose habits 
brought on premature decay ; perhaps he had good 
sense, coupled with a prophetic instinct, and foresaw 
the Creole. But the tortoise remains, and there is 
a sort of determination in his look which seems to 
say that he intends to remain until the creole has 
joined the dodo. Who knows? That tortoise is 
no fool. 

In a way I owe that tortoise a grudge. A certain 
London daily used to take about six guineas' worth 
of copy a month from me, which meant about six 
hours' work, until, in an evil moment, I wrote a 
column about the old pensioner at the line barracks. 
I never saw a copy of the article, and I forget what 
I said ; but the result was that various angry 
Mauritians began to haunt that newspaper office, 
seeking my blood, and the editor, growing weary 
of them, declared he would never take another line 
from me, a decision which was hailed with delight 
by one or two of my pseudo friends, who had long 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 267 

been wanting the space I was filling. Things were 
pretty bad at the time, both for them and for me, 
and I suppose it was but natural that they should 
hunt round for further evidence against me, to 
confirm that editor in his decision ; and yet — I 
may be wrong — it always seemed to me just a little 
low down on their part. On the other hand, they 
were experienced journalists and I was new to the 
game, so I suppose they knew the etiquette of the 
matter better than I did. 

The most interesting thing in Mauritius is, 
naturally, the Mauritian himself. He is not an 
easy subject to tackle, at least on paper. To begin 
with, it is almost impossible to define him. He is 
the product of a dozen races, both savoury and 
unsavoury, of civilisations and of savage tribes. 
He is every shade of colour, from white to jet-black. 
He is of every class, from a perfect gentleman to 
a perfect beast. It is impossible to draw a hard 
line anywhere, and to say "this is white and that 
is dark, this civilised, and that a savage." East 
and West, North and South, have mingled and 
mixed, and now one can only divide the classes by 
a rough generalisation. 

The natural barrier between black and white 
having been entirely destroyed, there is no essen- 
tially white Mauritian community. Every man 
who has any white blood in his veins regards 
himself as being wholly European in descent. The 
last census returns, compiled by Creole enumerators, 
gave a hundred and seventy thousand Europeans 
and six hundred and seventy Africans ; whereas 
the fiofures could be reversed without casting a 
slur on anyone. 



268 A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 

The poorer classes of Creole, the frankly un- 
educated ones, are little more than savages, with 
all the half-pitiful, half-ludicrous ways of the latter. 
They are noisy, dirty, excitable, vain and boastful, 
with an overpowering love of foul food stuffs. They 
may have good qualities ; but they are wonderfully 
successful in concealing these, and the stranger 
never even suspects their existence. The whole 
coloured population revels in filth, and the death 
rate is in proportion to the smells. There would 
be riots in the island if bubonic plague and small- 
pox and other foul diseases were stamped out. 
They are looked upon as old and trusted friends. 
Still, we had all this, and much more, to learn when 
we landed in Port Louis. Had we known it before, 
or even suspected it, I doubt if we should have left 
the Clan steamer and her kindly old skipper. 



CHAPTER XXV 

The only hotel In Port Louis was about to be 
closed, which was fortunate, because the smell 
that greeted us on entering it suggested that the 
landlord was hiding a corpse under the dining- 
room table. As far as we could make out, no 
one ever stayed in Port Louis, no one ever 
wanted to stay there and, consequently, no one 
let rooms. Still, after a hunt, we discovered a 
place over a confectioner's shop, and took that 
for a week. Then came the question of food. 
Our capital amounted to nine rupees, and we 
could raise no more until we had given a lecture ; 
but, by a stroke of luck, we found a very decent 
little restaurant close by, and, after paying for 
the first meal, arranged to pay weekly for the 
rest. 

Those two difficulties settled, we started out to 
arrange lectures. Let me say right away that, 
though lecturing is a dreary job anywhere, it is 
a ghastly failure in Mauritius, where the small 
percentage of the population which does under- 
stand English hurries away from the smells the 
moment its day's work is done. Personally, I 
sympathise with those folk ; though, at that time, 
I used to wish they had sympathised with us to 
the extent of taking tickets. 

Of course, lectures are bores. The very word 
"lecture" suggests dull and improving things, 
told in a dull way. I do not know whether we 
269 



270 THE DIARY OF 

were dull ; I suppose we were, at anyrate sur- 
prisingly few people ever took the trouble to 
come and judge for themselves. I do not think 
our average audience throughout was fifty. In 
one place it fell as low as the chairman, the bar- 
man and a fat cat, which was neither encouraging 
nor remunerative. 

Our troubles in Mauritius were many. To begin 
with, there was no lantern ; and though, in the 
end, we did hire a lens and condenser, and make 
a lantern for ourselves out of a sugar box, the 
owner, a very voluble Frenchman, made our lives 
a misery by coming round three or four times a 
day to try and get his treasures back, alleging 
that we should break them. Finally, we had to 
insult him pointedly to get any peace at all ; and, 
even then, he used to follow us at a distance, 
muttering that we were thieves and rascals. But 
he was only one of many nuisances. Everyone 
was ready to give us useless advice, and mislead 
us in every conceivable way. We were on the 
wrong track all the time ; consequently, our fin- 
ancial success was not striking. We just managed 
to live, that was all ; and once or twice, when we 
had to go up that unspeakable railway to give a 
lecture, we had not a cent beyond our single fares. 
We had to trust to the takings to provide us with 
lodgings and bring us back, a condition which was 
not always fulfilled ; still, we did not lose heart, as 
we expected to make a large profit over our per- 
formance at the Theatre Royal in Port Louis 
itself. 

The Theatre Royal is one of the best little 
houses of its kind I have ever seen. It belongs 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 271 

to the town, and, in order to encourage enter- 
tainments, no charge is made for the use of it. 
The mayor, who was also an editor and a dentist, 
readily gave us permission to use it, provided we 
paid for the electric light. The latter was gener- 
ated by a dynamo driven off an exceedingly offens- 
ive oil engine, the noise from whose exhaust was 
one of the most effective advertisements a show 
could have. Everyone in the town knew at once 
that the theatre was being used that night. 

However, we did not trust entirely to the engine. 
We had some weird posters of our own design, for 
which we had made stencils, and, after much weariness 
and perspiring, we had two hundred of these ready 
to go up. They were all duly pasted on to doors 
and walls, I know that ; but by nine o'clock next 
morning there was not one to be seen. The gentle 
Creole, following the custom of the place, had pulled 
them down in order to decorate his own abode. 
It was a delicate tribute to our artistic skill ; 
though, at the time, we did not see it in that 
light. 

The morning preceding the lecture was one of 
tribulation. We had already arranged with an 
old Frenchman to take charge of the controle — 
which meant issuing tickets, opening doors and 
showing the audience to its seats — for the sum of 
fifteen rupees, which was also to include his twelve 
assistants. The bargain had been made, on the 
recommendation of the mayor, the previous day ; 
but before we had finished breakfast there were 
half-a-dozen more would-be controllers, all assur- 
ing us that the old man and his satellites were 
thieves, and that they themselves individually 



272 THE DIARY OF 

were the only honest men in Port Louis. I do 
not know which lied, their tongues or their faces. 
If they had said they were the lineal descendants 
of the Forty Thieves I should have believed them 
readily, in fact I believed it without their assurance. 

After these came many others, a bewildering 
succession of cadgers, each trying to extract pay- 
ment for some important service he had not per- 
formed. One man wanted a rupee because a 
poster had been put on his gate, another claimed 
the same sum for having put it there, and a third 
wanted half-a-rupee for having stolen it. And 
so it went on, until we were reduced to a state 
of damp and speechless indignation. At last, 
however, the mayor, who was a very kind and 
courteous little old gentleman, sent a clerk to 
our assistance, and the new - comer settled the 
cadgers with a rather brutal directness. He 
seemed to know them all. 

Meanwhile, the controller had opened his box 
office, although it was only eleven o'clock, and 
had begun his functions, which, so far, consisted 
in counting and recounting tickets which had 
already done service on many occasions ; but at 
midday a new difficulty arose in connection with 
him. The mayor sent down to say we must have 
someone to control the controller ; but, as he added 
that the latter himself must pay the additional 
man, we did not cavil, nor did the controller 
seem to object to the idea. The two sat together 
in the box office, counted and recounted those 
dirty tickets, then settled down to smoke cigarettes 
and drink vin ordinaire for the six or seven hours 
which must elapse before business began. 




TVIP.S. STANLEY PORTAL HYATT. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 273 

When we got behind the scenes that evening, we 
found more trouble. The caretaker demanded a 
rupee for something he had not done, and ought 
not to have done in any case. This was refused ; 
then, when he was told to arrange some scenery 
behind the lantern, he demanded two rupees, and 
received only some hard words. We put the scenery 
in position ourselves ; but no sooner had we finished 
than the brute began to take it away. There was 
only one possible course, and it became necessary to 
give him what he had probably deserved every day 
of his life — a couple of carefully placed kicks. Un- 
fortunately, being a Creole, he did not know what 
was good for him. He threatened us with the law, 
and he threatened us with the mayor and the press, 
and he called us gentle Creole names ; finally, he 
retired to some highly flavoured den of his own at 
the back, from which he did not emerge until the 
end of the performance, when he came to demand a 
rupee as his official fee. 

The lecture was advertised for half-past eight. 
At eight thirty-five the controller of the controller 
came round to say that the " house " only amounted 
to fifteen rupees ; but that there were several hundred 
Creoles outside, and if we waited half-an-hour most 
of these would come in. They are rather casual in 
Mauritius. They take their standards from the 
railway, and nothing is ever less than thirty 
minutes late. The advice given seemed good, so 
I went to the front — I was lecturing that night for 
a change — and asked the audience to have a little 
patience. A voice from the dress circle, obviously 
British, answered : " That's all right, old fellow. 
But come and have a whisky and soda meanwhile." 



274 THE DIARY OF 

Naturally, I accepted, from the stage — it was 
terribly hot in that theatre — and, leaving the fifteen- 
rupee house to reflect on the pure beauty of a blank 
magic-lantern screen, I went round to meet the 
stranger, who turned out to be a splendid old man, 
tough and rugged, the head of the locomotive yard. 
The best years of his life had been spent in trying 
to cope with the manifold idiocies of both his chiefs 
and his subordinates, and yet he was still cheerful, 
and kindly, and hopeful. 

We were away a little less than the half-hour, and 
when I returned I found that Amyas had reduced 
all seats to half price. There was quite a rush 
at first, and we got in another thirty rupees ; but 
before long it was obvious that no one else was 
coming, so we announced that all seats would now 
be free. 

There were eighteen police in the theatre ; but 
it took them all their time to keep what they con- 
sidered to be order. The unwashed of Port Louis 
made the most of their chance. Creole and China- 
man, Zanzibari and Zulu, Hindu and Afghan, 
Mongrel and Nondescript, rushed through the doors, 
fought and clawed in the corridors, scrambled over 
the seats, into the dress circle, into the stalls, even 
into the mayor's sacred box, jabbering like a lot of 
baboons who have sighted a leopard. 

I did not lecture. Whilst Amyas worked the 
lantern, I spent an hour in alternately imploring 
for silence and hurling insults at my audience ; 
though, as not one in the fifty of the latter under- 
stood English, it did not matter greatly what I 
said. 

At last my voice was done ; but, meanwhile. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 275 

Amyas had borrowed a banjo — though he had lost 
the two first fingers of his right hand he was by far 
the finest banjo player I ever heard — and he came 
forward, in shirt sleeves, and began to play. He 
started with "Bonnie Scotland," and the Creoles 
went mad, right away. They would have stayed 
there all night gladly, if he would have gone on 
playing ; but that was not in the programme. What 
he did want to give them was a shadow pantomime 
on the lantern screen — we were showing our slides 
from behind — so, whilst he was keeping them quiet, 
I took the lamp out of the lantern, and put it on the 
stage. Then Amyas came behind, and we treated 
that audience to an unrehearsed turn. It yelled 
with delight. It had never seen anything of the 
kind before, and it could not have too much of the 
idiotic show. We, on the other hand, had soon had 
enough. To say we were hot hardly expresses 
things. So, after about ten minutes, we stepped 
over the lamp and disappeared. There was another 
yell of delight at that ; but a moment later came 
shouts of wrath, for Amyas was giving them the 
signal to quit — "God save the King" on the banjo. 
It seemed that they had expected a three-hour 
show, and we had only given them two hours in all. 
True, nine-tenths of the audience had come in free, 
but that fact did not weigh with them. The Planters 
and Commercial Gazette, the pseudo- English paper, 
spoke of " a thunder of applause and great cheering " 
at our show ; one of the French papers was more 
candid. It said that "the Creoles manifested." If 
fighting the police is manifesting, that journal was 
right. There were eighteen guardians of the peace 
in the theatre, as well as a dozen or more assistant 



276 A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 

controllers, and these ushered the crowd out with 
their boots. It was quite an affecting scene. 

Nominally, we lost two or three rupees over that 
performance ; really, it was the cheapest evening's 
fun I've ever had. However, the financial situation 
was an unpleasant one. We owed money for a 
good many small things, and our creditors used to 
haunt us in the most foolish way. They were un- 
reasonable. We used to tell them how sorry we 
were for them and for ourselves, condole with them, 
comfort them, or rather try to comfort them ; but 
still they would give us no peace. 

There was no chance of earning any money. No 
one wanted white labour of any kind. The local 
papers did not pay for articles, as is the way of their 
kind, whilst lecturing was obviously no good. In 
the end, it came down to this, we were D.B.S., dis- 
tressed British subjects, and the community sent us 
away. Possibly it does not sound pleasant, and it 
was less pleasant in reality ; still, in those days we 
used to laugh at everything that happened, and no 
one could say we did not take our misfortunes 
lightly — which is, after all, the way every sane man 
takes them. 

We were just a month In Mauritius, quite long 
enough to learn its chief characteristics ; and, though 
we may not have left it in state, of this I am sure — 
we left it without regret. 



CHAPTER XXVI 

It is one thing to get to Mauritius, quite another 
thing to quit it, even when you have the means to 
do so. The steamers which leave it have a way of 
going to nowhere in particular — that is to say, they 
make for Point de Galle, where they receive orders 
by signal. They may go to Karachi, they may go 
to Calcutta or Aden or Colombo, certainly they 
will go to the one place you do not want to reach, 
from which you cannot get away again. 

We saw one or two of these indefinite tramp 
steamers wheeze into Port Louis, and wheeze away, 
wearily, as if they felt their destination would prove 
as bad as the spot they were quitting. Then a 
British Indian vessel, the Virawa, loafed into the 
harbour, and began to load sugar. The chief merit 
about her, the only merit I should say, was that she 
had a fixed port to go to. The underwriters had 
betted the owners that she would return to the 
Cingalese port, and she was bound to attempt 
to do so. 

We decided to go on the Virawa as deck 
passengers, amongst the coolies and the Chows. 
We told ourselves, very truly, that there was copy 
in it, so there was ; but that was not our principal 
reason. To put it crudely, we had no choice, being 
D.B.S. Yet there were some curious circumstances 
about our going. A man who had great influence 
in shipping circles had assured us he could get us 
a cheap fare, and he went to the British India 
277 



278 THE DIARY OP 

Company's agent. The latter sent for the skipper 
of the Virawa, introduced us to him, and then took 
him inside to discuss rates. They discussed 
earnestly and long, possibly with the aid of prayer, 
and finally informed us that they could take us for 
forty-one rupees each. We could manage that on 
the fund raised to send us away, and they told us 
it was a special favour ; though, later on, we dis- 
covered that it was the schedule price, and that the 
long and earnest discussion, and the possible prayer, 
had merely ended in a decision not to overcharge 
us. 

The Indian Ocean is the home of maritime 
curiosities. All the ancient crocks in Lloyds' 
Register drift down there ultimately, when decent 
ports will no longer receive them. The Virawa 
was no exception to the rule. True, she was but 
fourteen years old in those days, and yet she had 
an air of hoary decrepitude which made her seem 
coeval with the Ark. She always seemed to be 
apologising for herself. Probably this was due to 
her beinor a British India steamer. The fact must 
have preyed on her mind, and brought on prem.ature 
decay. There are social degrees amongst steam- 
ships, strictly defined. The Western Ocean vessels 
are the aristocrats ; then come other liners, the 
upper middle classes, which have a fixed address, 
and the movements of which can be traced in a 
Cook's office ; and after the liners come the tramps, 
the middle and lower classes, frankly commercial. 
But the British India steamer is a demi-mondaine. 
She aspires to move in fashionable circles which 
will not, and cannot, receive her. She poses as a 
iiner, and yet is less respectable than a tramp. She 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 279 

revels in shoddy finery, whilst, all the time, every- 
one knows that she has the fiercest rats and the 
most voracious cockroaches of any vessel afloat. 

The Virawa carried first-class passengers in the 
stern, and deck passengers wherever they could 
find a square foot of deck on which to stow them- 
selves. She was engaged in a wholly abominable 
trafiic and she seemed aware of the fact. The 
ordinary deck passenger is a coolie, who carries his 
own food, and passes his days in seasick misery, 
surrounded by his family and all his pitiful little 
stock of worldly goods. If the weather is fine, he 
sleeps most of the time ; if it is bad, he is washed 
about the deck by every sea the vessel ships. He 
reaches then the very nadir of wretchedness, and yet, 
as a rule, he accepts it, as he accepts most things 
in life, with a mute, uncomplaining meekness. He 
belongs to a people foredoomed to sorrow and 
privation, and, dimly, he recognises the inevitable. 
Frequently — so frequently that this coolie emigrant 
track on the Indian Ocean has become a scandal 
and a disgrace, an abominable blot on the British 
name, a dragging of the Red Ensign in the mud in 
order that unctuous shipowners in Glasgow may 
grow rich, and so be able to give five-pound sub- 
scriptions to the missions of their kind — the coolie 
dies from sheer physical exhaustion. To put it 
crudely, he gets awash. He is seasick, exhausted 
from lack of food, the fires in the cooking places 
on deck having been put out ; helpless from 
fear, the first big sea shipped licks round him, 
separates him from his family, scatters his belong- 
ings into the scuppers, and lands him with a 
sickening crash against a deck house. The cow 



280 THE DIAHY OF 

of a steamer rolls, and takes in a lump of green 
water on the other side, and the process is repeated. 
There is nowhere for the coolie to go on these open- 
deck ships like the Virawa — it is well to remember 
that ; no 'tween decks, no quarters of any sort, no 
hold even in which he can be confined. He has 
paid for the deck, and he gets the deck and its 
chances, no more. A dozen dead, fifty injured, two 
hundred and fifty bereft of all they possessed — that 
is no uncommon record for one bad night on those 
open-deck steamers. Cattle would not be permitted 
to come across the Atlantic under such conditions, 
our public conscience would not tolerate it ; but, 
as everyone knows, the Ten Commandments do 
not run east of Suez, and other laws are equally 
inoperative. We want our foreign cattle landed 
fat, so we are careful ; we want our coolies conveyed 
cheaply, and coolies are wonderfully plentiful ; a 
few lost en route makes no appreciable difference, 
so long as the dividends are paid on the steamsliip 
companies' shares, which is, perhaps, the reason 
why, though I have approached members of all 
parties, from cocoa folk to Tariff Reformers, from 
anti-vaccinationists to educated men, I have not 
found one who would ask a question in Parliament 
about this shameful traffic. 

When we boarded the Virawa she was still 
taking in cargo at all holds, and, as much of this 
consisted of molasses, I will not attempt to describe 
the state of filth and confusion in which she was. 
Aft, in the first saloon, a score of tearful Mauritians, 
coffee-coloured and voluble, were bidding farewell 
to a departing couple, weeping, wailing, kissing 
one another, irrespective of age or sex, yet all the 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 281 

time making the most of the free lunch. The deck 
passengers were scattered in Httle groups all over 
the ship, squatting on piles of baggage, surveying 
the scene with listless apathy. Winches, venerable 
links with a bygone age, rusted and decrepit, 
rattled and shrieked as, with obvious weariness, 
they hoisted in the dripping barrels of molasses ; 
stevedores and their apelike Creole clerks wrangled 
with each other, with the ship's officers, even with 
the winches. In the course of the afternoon the 
most ancient of the local tugs, probably the oldest 
steamboat afloat, coughed her way alongside with the 
mail bags ; but though we took the latter on board 
— heavens ! what a parody on a mail-steamer ! — 
there was no sign of the Virawa starting. At 
nightfall, she was still taking in cargo, like a hysena 
which goes scavengering round the bush for the 
last scraps of intestines the lion has left. We had 
looked for some spot in which to plant ourselves, 
but found the quest useless in view of the confusion. 
From stem to stern the vessel was plastered with 
a mixture of soot and treacle ; we had expected to 
find some part of the deck reserved for white deck 
passengers, and there would have been on any 
other steamer, but the master of the Virawa seemed 
to hold the doctrine of racial equality — poor wretch, 
probably he dare not call his soul his own, and had 
to swallow the nauseous doctrines served out from 
Glasgow, or else quit his berth — at anyrate, he had 
lost his sense of what was due to his own race, and, 
arguing from the individual to the mass, had come 
to the conclusion that all white men were white 
Kaffirs. 

We wandered up and down the deck, looking in 



282 THE DIARY OF 

vain for a clean spot. It was nearly midnight 
before we even got a glimpse of one ; but at last 
we noticed that the after-hold was beingr covered 
over, and we immediately brought up our lighter 
luggage and prepared to peg out a corner location 
on the tarpaulin hatch cover. We were not the 
only ones with the same intention. The hatches, 
as the driest places on deck, are always greatly 
coveted by the Oriental, poor devil ; and, conse- 
quently, as soon as it was whispered that one was 
nearly ready, dark forms, each bearing a pile of 
goods, began to creep up. Then, the instant the 
tarpaulin was spread, there was a wild yell, and 
each man tossed his gear into the hatch, and began 
hurriedly to arrange a barricade round his claim. 
We secured the corner location, and were lucky 
enough to have Chinamen behind and beside us — 
lucky in the comparative sense, for, with all his 
faults, the heathen Chinee is immeasurably superior 
to the pious Hindu or the man and brother from 
Afric's sunny clime. He is the one coloured man 
I can tolerate ; he is surly, certainly, obsessed with 
the memory of his six thousand years of civilisation, 
but he is essentially honest, and, according to his 
rights, honourable ; all he asks of the West is to be 
left alone. You can respect a Chinaman, because 
you always meet him on neutral ground ; he is as 
civilised as we are, more civilised perhaps, in his 
Chinese way ; and yet, in our national idiocy, we 
send missions to him, as a heathen, and fraternise 
with the apelike little Japanese, who are, after all, 
merely veneered savages. 

For a few moments the various claimholders 
squabbled amongst themselves like wild dogs over 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 283 

a dead buck ; then their weariness came to the aid 
of the cause of peace, and they crouched down 
amongst their blankets, to get such rest as the 
local inhabitants of the latter would permit. A 
friendly Chow next to us, seeing we had not 
brought up all our kit, gave us a wise hint. 
" Indians plenty thieves, savee ? " he said. We 
did savee, and we dragged up our trunk — on a 
B.I. steamer you keep your gear with you, if the 
sea and the other passengers permit you to do so 
— and then we went to sleep ; but at three o'clock 
a rain squall broke, turning the dry filth on the 
deck into liquid slime, and there was a general 
rush for the only shelter available, in the alley ways 
beside the engine-room, amongst piles of ashes, old 
sugar mats, and crude human filth. Possibly there 
was space for a third of the deck passengers ; the 
remainder shivered in the rain, contracting chest 
diseases. 

In the morning the two or three of us who were 
being fed by the vessel received a cup of nearly 
cold tea. It was welcome enough, however ; but 
when we asked for a second one the black brute 
who acted as steward demanded a quarter of a 
rupee, fourpence, in advance, declaring that that 
was the regulation price per cup. Then we asked 
about a wash, and came up against the fact that 
there were absolutely no washing arrangements for 
the ten days' voyage, whilst the lavatory accom- 
modation, which was open its entire length, was 
shared promiscuously by men and women, Hindu, 
Mahometan, and Confucian, violating, not only 
every law of native religion, but the crudest 
principles of decency as well. You have to see 



284 THE DIARY OF 

those things to believe them, and then no one 
believes you when you write of them. 

We starved for three days. After the Chinese 
boatswain and sailmaker and carpenter had been 
fed we used to get our food, the very smallest 
portions of curry and rice I have ever seen 
served, curry and rice three times a day, and not 
even enough rice. The ship grudged so small a 
thing as ship's biscuit, being apparently desirous 
of clearing five hundred per cent, profit on what we 
had paid ; but on the third evening we struck, and 
we got hold of the goatlike old coolie chief steward. 
He heard things which even the mate would not 
have dared to whisper, fearing the Company; but we 
were deadly hungry, and the Company was nothing 
to us. I think that steward realised that we knew 
what we wanted, and what we meant to get ; for 
after that we received far better allowances, though 
the skipper's looks grew very black. We had met 
him in Mauritius, lunched with him at the house of 
a mutual friend, even spent one of our very few 
rupees in buying alcohol for him ; yet he never 
even nodded to us on board. He was the most 
complete outsider I ever came across, a real white 
Kaffir. I can picture him in Parliament, spitting 
out charges against men of his own colour. 

In the end, we secured a location on the fore- 
hatch, which we shared with seven Sepoys. We 
could have had more congenial company, but, at 
least, we were away from the main body of the 
three hundred or so of our fellow-sufferers. The 
Virawa took ten days over the trip, being, as I 
have said, prematurely aged and decrepit ; but, 
fortunately, we had fine weather ; otherwise, being 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 285 

loaded down to the Plimsoll mark, and having a 
very low freeboard, and only open wirework for 
bulwarks, we should have been awash the whole 
time. There is nowhere to go on those open-deck 
emigrant steamers, that is the point I want to 
drive home ; if the seas sweep the deck, they 
sweep the deck passengers too. The trade is one 
of the most abominable things carried on under 
the shelter of the British Flag, and yet, I suppose, 
the dividends earned justify it, after all. The 
English cocoa manufacturers want cheap labour 
in Trinidad and other West Indian Islands, other- 
wise they would have to curtail their philanthropy 
at home ; Natal and Mauritius want cheap labour 
for the sugar plantations ; the shipping companies 
want balance sheets of which they can be proud. 
And, after all, India has three hundred million 
people ; and will never miss the few hundreds 
who die on the open-deck steamers from cold, 
exhaustion, and the battering of the seas. Then, 
too, if they had not died on the steamers, the 
plantation work, the poor food and bad treatment, 
would possibly have killed them, the price of cheap 
cocoa and cheap sugar being rather high, if you are 
absurd enough to reckon it out in human lives. So 
I suppose it is all for the best, and I, myself, am 
merely tilting at a windmill, understanding neither 
commerce nor philanthropy. 



CHAPTER XXVII 

I WILL not say we left the Virawa at Colombo 
without regret, for the phrase is totally inadequate. 
We left her with positive delight. Our record for 
the next month or two is uneventful. We lectured 
and sold newspaper articles in Ceylon, then drifted 
up through Southern India, landing at Tuticorin 
and finally, after various stops, getting as far as 
Madras. Then we turned south again, to a for- 
saken spot called Negapatam, whence we got 
another British India steamer to Penang. 

If I wanted to write a book of travels, I should 
have quite a lot to say about Southern India. Of 
course, I only got a superficial knowledge, a mere 
glance, but in these days that is usually considered 
sufficient, especially if you introduce some virulent 
political matter about the rights of man and the 
voteless, voiceless millions. There is good copy 
in India, money to be made out of India. If you 
do the thing properly, you can form a Reform 
Committee of your own, raise subscriptions, and 
give lectures with black polygamists flanking you 
on the platform. But, not being a believer in man- 
and-brother theories, I have missed all those by- 
products of travel. 

In India the most interesting thing to us was the 
amazing snobbishness of the average Englishman. 
We had nothing to compare with it in Rhodesia in 
the early days, either because the risks of life 
deterred the snobs from coming out, or because the 

286 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 287 

climate and conditions were not favourable to their 
continued existence. On the other hand, Indian 
air seems to suit the breed. Certainly, we found 
the Services as a whole very decent, but the com- 
mercial class was absolutely appalling. It seems to 
have all the bad points of the City — the cheap smart- 
ness, the grovelling before wealth, the vulgar 
materialism — developed and expanded, though you 
almost overlook these in wonder at its sense of 
its own position. It dare not allow a stranger to 
approach it, until that stranger has first been put up 
for the local club, which it considers equivalent to 
being presented at Court. Its ignorance is equalled 
only by its offensiveness. 

In writing of this class in India, I do not mean 
that India has any sort of monopoly, quite other- 
wise. All through the East we found the same 
thing, wherever there was a British commercial 
community ; and I had an unusually good chance of 
appreciating the effects of commerce on character 
because I came across quite a number of fellows 
who had been at school with me. They had, 
without exception, been decent enough in those 
days, but the same could no longer be said of them. 
When they found the way Amyas and I were 
travelling, they turned their backs on us, promptly. 
People of position do not live by their wits, or write 
or lecture. Consequently, my old schoolfellows, 
mighty men, clerks in banks and merchants' offices, 
could no longer know me. I do not blame them, 
they were acting according to their own rather dim 
lights ; and, at least, I got copy out of them. 
There is always that consolation for a writer ; he 
can afford to suffer fools gladly, because their very 



288 THE DIARY OF 

foolishness supplies him with literary capital. I 
have been called vindictive on account of some of 
the pictures I have drawn in my stories. I deny 
the charge wholly. The only useful purpose which 
the originals seemed to fulfil was that of object 
lessons, and I treated them on that basis ; that was 
all. I like Tin Gods, because they rattle so delight- 
fully when you hit them ; and I dislike Tin Gods, 
because a good many of them have insulted me. 
Even my own kith and kin have shaken their 
unctuous heads over Amyas and myself, being 
shocked at our unconventional — or should I say 
uncommercial — doings, and have refused us introduc- 
tions to their smug friends in the East. One, who 
was out there, and was living but a little way off 
our route, could not invite us to see him because 
his aunt's mother-in-law, or some equally close 
relative, was about to be married, or I suppose 
remarried, within the next month or two. I can 
picture the cold sweat of perspiration into which 
the prospect of our coming must have thrown him. 
For what can be more terrible than having to 
acknowledge as your relatives men who live 
by their brains? Other men in the club did not 
do so ; no one respectable does so, at least in the 
East. 

We got down to Negapatam, a place which is 
about the limit so far as ports are concerned ; and 
from the quay we could see our British India steamer, 
the Zamania, wallowing in the roadstead. Our 
only other fellow-passenger was his Majesty's 
Minister to one of the most important Eastern 
courts, a young-looking man, rather lame, and 
quite devoid of " official side." He was travelling 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 289 

privately, and it was not until later that we dis- 
covered who he was. 

There was no hotel in Negapatam,but we managed 
to get the native in charge of the railway refresh- 
ment-room to go out and slaughter sundry 
animals and make us a meal ; and then, the three 
of us, the Minister, Amyas and myself, went and 
hunted up the steamers' agent. He was weary and 
rude, and he told us that the office in Madras had 
made a mistake as to the date of sailing, and that 
we must wait on shore another twenty-four hours. 
As to where we might stay, he neither knew nor 
cared. I will not say that our thanks were effusive, 
because we felt tolerably certain that he could have 
sent us aboard there and then. On the other hand, 
we had not the slightest intention of abiding by his 
decision, so we got our baggage taken down to the 
quay, chartered one of the vast surf boats with its 
thirty or so oarsmen, and started for the Zamania. 
There is an ugly bar in Negapatam Harbour, a 
horrible institution quite in keeping with the rest 
of the place. If you are lucky, a big wave carries 
you over it ; if your crew misses the psychological 
moment, you stick there and get saturated. Our 
crew missed, and by the time we did reach the 
Zamania none of us was looking his best. 

We clambered up the vessel's side, and the 
officer on duty sent us to the skipper's cabin. 
Naturally, the eldest man, the British Minister, led 
the way, knocked at the skipper's door, and went in 
to explain that, owing to a mistake made in Madras, 
we had come aboard a day too soon. But the ex- 
planation was never made. The skipper gave none 
of us a chance to speak. He literally fired us out. 



290 THE DIARY OF 

We were accused of being drunk — because we were 
wet through and the other man walked lame. 
Still, we were aboard, and there we stayed. 

In fairness to the skipper, I must admit that 
the man was half crazy from overwork at the 
moment, and that he apologised afterwards. Had 
I been in his place, I should also have insulted 
people. He was a white man, yet he had to kow- 
tow to uncleanly native merchants or risk losing his 
job ; he had been bred up in the splendid traditions 
of the British Merchant Service, yet he had fourteen 
hundred indentured natives coming aboard the fol- 
lowing day, to be crammed down into the 'tween 
decks, and wherever there were no natives he had 
to stow cattle and goats, about five hundred of the 
former and four hundred of the latter. He had 
three men's work, ten men's responsibility, and less 
than a man's pay. 

The coolie labourers came off in the giant surf 
boats, seasick and drenched. The steamer was 
rolling heavily, as does every vessel whose fate it 
is to lie in that detestable roadstead, and it was no 
easy task to get the poor wretches aboard, yet, some- 
how, it was accomplished without serious mishap. 
Unlike the Vtrawa, the Zamania had large 'tween 
decks, and there was, at least, cover for these so- 
called voluntary emigrants ; on the other hand, the 
deck space which the cattle and goats did not 
occupy was so small that, when the great cauldrons 
of curry and rice were brought out, ready for serv- 
ing, the crush was such that a large proportion of 
the coolies got no food at all. The fight for those 
meals was one of the most savage, horrible sights 
I have ever seen. Twice a day the mob tried to 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 291 

rush the pots, usually to be driven back with equal 
savagery by the kitchen police. Now and then, one 
of the huge cauldrons would be upset, scalding the 
feet of those around it ; at other times the food 
would give out long before the weaker ones, mostly 
women and children, had received their shares. 
You cannot hope for order when you have fourteen 
hundred starving Indian peasants cooped up on a 
comparatively small vessel. Your only hope is 
that the weather will be sufficiently bad to keep a 
large portion of them seasick. 

We had six lifeboats of various sizes hanging on 
the davits, just sufficient to take the ship's company 
and the white passengers, no more. I asked the 
mate one day what would happen in the event of 
a collision. He thought a moment, then replied 
that, after the coolies had been shut into the 'tween 
decks, we should take to the boats, telling the four- 
teen hundred down below to follow us at their own 
convenience. It sounded very well, only it might 
have been difficult to get the fourteen hundred 
battened down, in fact, there is little doubt that, at 
the first alarm, they would have rushed the upper 
decks, the bridge, the chart house, everywhere, and, 
in all probability, have thrown the officers over- 
board as sacrifices to the sea gods. At anyrate, 
I am certain that not a single boat would ever have 
got away from the sinking ship. 

Nothing of interest happened at Penang, in fact 
the place seemed quite unpropitious so far as we 
were concerned, consequently, we drifted on to 
Singapore. We intended to stay a long while in 
the latter place, expecting to make much money 
there, and then go on to Deli in Sumatra ; so we 



292 THE DIARY OF 

took rooms at a hotel in the centre of the town, a 
large place with a French name owned by a product 
of the Fatherland. I hope that same German is 
still there, that he has had to mortgage the house, 
that he is making bad debts every day, and is ac- 
quiring all the various complaints which Singapore 
can furnish to the European-born. I am not often 
vindictive ; I have tried to forget all my animosi- 
ties whilst writing this book, and to say only nice 
things about people ; but I cannot pass over that 
Squarehead. We were in his place from ten a.m. 
until five p.m., we had one meal only, and in the 
room we engaged we merely washed our hands ; 
yet, when we announced that we were leaving for 
Manila that night, he produced a bill for fifteen 
dollars. We possessed ten dollars, and we offered 
him those — all our trunks were in his place or he 
would have had nothing — and finally, in order to 
get away at all, we had to give him a pair of gold 
sleeve links. He was a hog. If he is alive it is safe 
to say he is a hog still. The word may not be a 
nice one, but it is the only appropriate one I know. 
I hope, if a copy of this book gets as far as Singa- 
pore, someone will take it down to that hotel, and 
read out what I have said to that gross Teuton. 
They do not love the breed out there in our richest 
roadstead, and I can acquit them of the charge of 
prejudice. I feel sure they have good grounds for 
their dislike. 

The cause of our hurried departure from Singa- 
pore was that we had been offered passages to 
Manila, free passages. I will not give the name of 
the steamer for this reason — she was running dyna- 
mite for the Japanese, she had over two thousand 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 293 

tons of it on board when she was lying beside the 
quay in Singapore, ostensibly a harmless, necessary 
tramp, a fact which would, possibly, have given the 
town a creepy feeling had it known the truth. I 
think her skipper — he was quite a young man — 
was about the most decent fellow I ever met, whilst 
his officers were, without exception, of the same 
class as himself. It did you good to be on that 
ship, you realised what nice people there are in the 
world ; and, after our experience with the British 
India line, and the Singapore Squarehead, we were 
able to appreciate our hosts to the fullest extent. 
I should like to meet that skipper again. I could 
never repay him for the good turn he did us, but I 
should like him to know I have not forgotten it, 
though, curiously enough, I have forgotten his 
name. 

The steamer was not a record breaker, in fact 
her best run was a hundred and forty-four knots 
in the twenty-four hours. She was just a cargo- 
tank with a small box of machinery amidships ; but, 
unlike most of her kind, she was thoroughly well 
found. Having all that dynamite on board, contra- 
band of war, she had to avoid the Russians, and at 
that time most people supposed that the Baltic 
Fleet was already in Far Eastern waters. You 
cannot do much running away when your best 
speed is six knots, so the skipper did the other 
thing — he kept out of the route of ordinary steamers, 
hugging the coast of Borneo, where there are shoals 
and sunken rocks and reefs innumerable. 

We dropped anchor in Manila Harbour after 
midnight, and, as was but right, the police launch 
came out at once, though I cannot say she did 



294 THE DIARY OF 

much good, for the whole of her crew was so drunk 
that no one had noticed that her side Hgrhts had 
been put on the wrong way about, red to starboard, 
green to port. For safety, the mate of our vessel 
persuaded the police to tie up alongside us, and they 
remained there until the morning chill brought 
them to their senses. 

Before they allow you to land in Manila, you are 
supposed to prove that you possess a hundred 
dollars, American coinage. Our joint finances 
amounted to ten Singapore dollars the skipper had 
lent us. Then there are also landing charges, 
customs extortions, and various other trifles of the 
same kind. Alone, I should never have attempted 
it ; but Amyas' curious charm of manner carried 
us through triumphantly. We showed no money, 
we paid nothing, and we were past the customs, 
and in the town, almost before I knew what had 
occurred. As had happened a dozen times before, 
the boy's personal magnetism smoothed over all 
difficulties. He laughed, talked for a moment in 
that winning, musical voice of his, and the officials 
laughed too, and passed us on. I never knew a man 
say '* No " to him. 

We took cheap rooms, and therein I know now 
that we made a mistake. We ought to have 
bluffed, and then the British community would 
have received us ; but, as it was, though there were 
several men I had known well in England, the 
whole crowd gave us the cold shoulder, osten- 
tatiously, fearing to compromise its position. At 
the time I was intensely irritated ; now, however, I 
realise that, from his very nature, a Tin God must 
be careful, he is of such frail material that the least 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 295 

thing may dent him and spoil his beauty, so I bear 
the Britons of Manila no ill-will, although I could 
wish that some of them had been sufficiently 
interesting, or sufficiently amusing, to have furnished 
me with copy. But none did. 

They were all purely negative in their snobbish- 
ness. I hope they all grow rich, and that too much 
haunting of club bars does not lead to enlarged 
spleens or liver complaints, so that, in the end, they 
can return home and rise to high fame, if not to high 
honour, as borough councillors, or even county 
councillors. Then they will still be able to look 
down on me, as a man who lives by his wits. And 
yet, perhaps, despite all the sorrow and privation and 
tragedy I have known, the unforgettable memories 
which are always in the background, life has brought 
more to me already than it will ever bring to them. 
An hour or two in Manila, a couple of visits to 
those Englishmen we knew, were enough to show 
us that we must turn to the Americans for support. 
Consequently the afternoon we landed saw us, 
dressed in our best white ducks, at the palace. 
We asked first for the Governor General ; a minute 
later, a perspiring young clerk, lank-haired and 
serious, came out with our cards, and asked our 
business, Amyas pulverised him. We had nothing 
to do with mere assistant secretaries; so they took us 
in to the Governor, who proved to be a very charm- 
ing old Southern general, a Democrat, who had 
been given the post by President Roosevelt, because 
the Republican game of graft had been carried too 
far already, and it had become necessary to have 
a gentleman at the head of affairs, even though, as 
was the case, he was rendered practically impotent 



296 THE DIARY OF 

by being surrounded by a gang of needy Republican 
nominees. General Wright always seemed to me 
a tragic figure. As in his youth, so in his old age, 
he stood for the Lost Cause, the long, bitter fight of 
Honour against Politics. Foredoomed to failure — 
for Politics always win — he stuck to his guns 
manfully, until the last chance of stopping the rot 
of corruption and injustice had gone. But, at least 
he left the palace as other governors have not left 
it, respected by all honourable men. 

General Wright received us so cordially, although 
we really had no grounds for calling on him, that 
we felt encouraged to visit all the other big men 
of Manila. Consequently, we took each of the 
white commissioners in turn — we did not fancy 
leaving cards on the half-castes — and then we went 
to the fort, and saw General Corbin, who was in 
command of the Philippines, and General Randall, 
the Commandant of Manila. In short, we called 
on everyone who was worth seeing, and were well 
received everywhere. I think the Americans 
appreciated our bluff, and when, a few days after- 
wards, we asked them to take tickets for our first 
lecture, they responded generously. Certainly we 
did sell some seats to the British, but none of these 
turned up on the night of the performance, and 
only one or two paid for their tickets. The rest 
forgot about it, and continued to forget, even when 
they knew that we were desperately pushed for 
money, as was the case later on. 

That first lecture took place about a week after 
we landed. To this day, I do not know how we 
made our capital of ten Singapore dollars last out ; 
but Amyas was a wonderful financier, and he 



A SOLDIER OP FORTUNE 297 

accomplished it, somehow. We used to get our 
food at a Httle restaurant eilmost opposite our 
rooms, a place frequented by discharged soldiers 
and sailors. For the price, the food was very 
good, and though we might be thirsty, in fact 
we were so often, we were never hungry, and we 
always managed to make a decent appearance 
when we went into the more fashionable parts of 
the town. 

So far as the audience was concerned, that first 
lecture was a failure, the room being almost empty ; 
but financially it was a success, especially as we let 
the various accounts, for the hall, the advertising 
and that sort of thing, run on indefinitely. At any- 
rate, we raised enough to provide the necessaries 
of life for a week or two, which was more than we 
had ever succeeded in doing before. Still there 
was, of course, the disquieting reflection that we 
had practically got all we could in that way, and 
were yet without the means of leaving Manila. 



CHAPTER XXVIII 

Few British tourists ever visit Manila. The place 
is off the main track, which runs from Singapore 
to Hong Kong and thence on to Shanghai. The 
Philippine Islands are on a branch line. Moreover, 
they possess few historical associations, no world- 
famous temples, so the ordinary traveller passes 
by, without giving the archipelago a thought. 
To him, the word Manila conjures up visions of 
good hemp and doubtful cigars, tempered with 
insurgents ; of Admiral Dewey firing at those 
Spanish ships which showed such indecent haste 
in opening their sea-cocks and sinking themselves, 
almost before the enemy's guns were fired ; of the 
American eagle clawing down the golden banner 
of Spain. 

Yet Manila is worth a visit, for it represents 
a new form of the East — an East without the 
ricksha coolie or the syce, without the Indian or 
the Chinaman, a bustling, nervous East, totally 
at variance with Oriental traditions. Perhaps it 
is all a little cheap and shoddy, and few, if any, 
of the so-called improvements will last any con- 
siderable time ; and yet it is interesting, if only 
as an object lesson in misapplied energy. 

The American went to the Philippines knowing 
nothing of the task of governing tropical depend- 
encies, but, with characteristic audacity, he set out 
to teach the effete European nations how the thing 
should be done. True, the Filipinos answered the 

298 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 299 

first overtures by turning their bolos, their terrible 
two-feet-long knives, on those who had just rescued 
them from the so-called Spanish oppression ; but 
even then the American Government persisted in 
regarding them as civilised men, as "the little 
brown brothers," who, though kept in subjection 
by their late tyrants, needed but a little develop- 
ment to place them on a level with the white 
races. "The Philippines for the Filipinos" was 
the doctrine laid down by William H. Taft, the 
first Governor General, who came out to put into 
practice the theories of the Republican party, an 
ugly task, almost an impossible task, for a self- 
respecting white man. The islands were to be 
modernised, brought up to date. The brown 
brother was to be taught to appreciate the beauties 
of the square on the hypothenuse, to read Emer- 
son, and even Henry James, to understand the 
glories of the Declaration of Independence and 
the Dingley Tariff. In short, an attempt was to 
be made to translate all the humbug and hypo- 
crisy, all the false sentiment and falser assump- 
tions, of ** Uncle Tom's Cabin " into real life. The 
Northern spirit was to run amok in the islands, 
and, as had been the case after the Civil War, 
the Northern politicians were to garner in the 
dollars. It was a truly splendid chance for the 
Republican party. The sentimentalists of the 
Yankee states were even more ready than usual 
to support any policy founded on fads and fallacies, 
whilst the revenue of the Philippines seemed to 
offer ample opportunities for rewarding faithful 
political service; moreover, the climate was re- 
puted to be bad, so that there was always a 



300 THE DIARY OF 

chance of death intervening and saving the party 
from having to continue to support its hangers-on 
and blackmailers. Consequently, everything was 
for the best, and the Republicans certainly were 
not slow to realise this fact. They sent their 
very worst to the Philippines, the scum off the 
political devil's cauldron — which was good for the 
United States and bad for the archipelago. 

Whilst the islands were under martial law things 
were done properly, as they had been in the Spanish 
days. Nature has made the Filipino about the most 
bloodthirsty, lying and treacherous of savages ; 
but, as if to redress the balance, she has provided 
the white man with unlimited hemp. The Ameri- 
can army, that finest and cleanest of services, used 
the hemp, in the form of ropes, and was getting 
the archipelago into some sort of order, when the 
Civil Government took it over. Then the inevitable 
happened. Corruption and anarchy became the 
order of the day ; all the splendid work of the 
army was undone, and the politician reigned 
supreme. 

The first act of the Civil Government was to 
put the native, the bolo-wielding savage, on a 
level with the white man, both socially and politi- 
cally. When we were in Manila, Filipino judges 
were sitting on the bench, trying white men, 
without a jury. Nay, more, to make the whole 
thing absolutely Gilbertian, three out of five of 
the judges of the High Court were coloured men. 
Filipino governors ruled provinces, and levied 
blackmail from the whole countryside. In Manila, 
Filipino police, armed with revolvers, ran riot at 
night ; when they wanted to murder a man, they 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 301 

simply shot him and declared he had resisted arrest. 
There was never any inquiry. In fact, it was only 
too evident that the Government, the Republican 
party, was not above using this means of ridding 
itself of critics ; and during the latter part of our 
stay, when we had fallen foul of the corrupt gang 
at the Palace, we received from a friendly official 
a hint never to be out alone after dark, as the 
police had received orders to kill us if a chance 
occurred. It is indeed an infamous thing when 
white men, or pseudo-white men, call in savages 
to aid them in maintaining a system of vice and 
peculation. 

The Americans boast of being a free people, 
yet no one was free in the Philippines, save those 
who were under the protection of foreign consuls, 
and even then, as in our case, there was always 
the risk of being murdered by order of the Govern- 
ment. American citizens who dared criticise the 
authorities were thrown into prison on some false 
charge, tried by a native judge, and either sent 
to penal servitude or deported. The most deadly 
offence of all was to refuse to mix socially with 
the natives, to refuse to allow the detestable, greasy 
little savages to leer and grin at your womankind. 
Nine out of ten of the officials had no colour sense, 
or rather their colour sense was as nothing com- 
pared to their cupidity. They were dead to all 
thought of the respect due to their own women ; 
it paid them to be so, and, consequently, they 
loathed those white men who did remember their 
colour. 

The American army is white all through, and, 
even to-day, it has not forgotten the comrades 



302 THE DIARY OF 

who were tortured to death by the Filipinos. The 
fact that many of those same FiHpino leaders are 
to-day in the employ of the Civil Government, 
as governors, magistrates, even judges, has not 
rendered the army less bitter. You cannot feel 
very calm when you see a man who has had your 
own brothers-in-arms roasted to death over a slow 
fire promoted to the bench and allowed to try white 
men. The army did not like the brown-brother 
theory ; in fact, it was a soldier who wrote that 
^mous little song, the refrain of which runs : 

" He may be a brother of William H. Taft, 
But he ain't no brother of mine." 

The civil officials loathed the army, and lost no 
chance of flouting and insulting it. Martial law 
meant honest government, the suppression of 
corruption, and the dismissal, if not the punishment, 
of the chief offenders, both white and coloured. 
Consequently, whenever trouble arose in the way 
of a revolt, the main object of the authorities was 
to put it down without having to call in the military, 
and as their own troops, the Philippines constabulary, 
were usually quite inadequate for the task, they 
generally settled the matter by giving in to the 
rebels, proclaiming an amnesty, promoting the 
insurgent leader to some lucrative post, and ignor- 
ing the claims of the unfortunate loyalists. More- 
over, at the time we reached the Philippines there 
was an additional reason why the army should be 
kept in the background. Theodore Roosevelt was 
standing for the presidency a second time, and 
he and William H. Taft had both assured the 
American nation that the brown-brother policy 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 303 

had resulted in the pacification of the islands. 
Had the American nation known at that juncture 
that the archipelago was literally seething with 
sedition, crime and corruption, that politically, 
financially and morally the Republican policy had 
been an absolute failure, the result of the election 
would possibly have been different, in which case 
the hungry carpet-baggers in Manila would have 
lost their lucrative posts. At all costs, the troops 
had to be kept out of the field, even though, as was 
literally the case, the natives were slaughtering 
one another by thousands up in the jungle. 

Samar is the third island of the archipelago in 
point of size, the first so far as fertility is con- 
cerned ; yet when we landed in Samar, just after 
Christmas Day, there were only a couple of small 
areas which were not in the hands of the insurgents. 
The insurrection had broken out, or, rather, had 
blazed up, some months before, inconveniently near 
the presidential election, as the leaders knew well. 
Probably, one may almost say certainly, the move- 
ment was engineered from Manila, by someone 
high in the confidence of the Government, otherwise 
it would have been impossible for the insurrectos 
to have learned within a few hours, by cable, the 
decisions arrived at in the supposed secrecy of the 
Governor General's council chamber. Nominally, 
however, the head of the affair was one Papa Pablo, 
the self-styled Pope of Samar and Leyte, who had 
proclaimed a holy war against all infidels, whether 
American or Filipino. 

Papa Pablo's creed had, at least, the merit of 
simplicity. He was the true head of the Catholic 
Church — and if you believed in him you were at 



304 THE DIARY OF 

liberty to slaughter all doubters and seize their 
property and their women. Moreover, you had the 
comforting assurance that, if the enemy happened 
to kill you, you would rise again in three days, in 
another island. Papa Pablo's followers wore, as 
distinguishing badges, red crosses on their breasts 
and hats, and sometimes on their backs as well, 
and, in consequence, were known as the "pulajanes" 
or "men in red." 

The objects of the pulajanes were the same as 
those of all the other insurgents — loot and murder ; 
but the element of fanaticism amongst the rank and 
file rendered them far more formidable opponents 
than Aguinaldo's pitiful insurrectos had been. 
Moreover, the leaders showed a good deal of 
political astuteness ; they knew exactly the posi- 
tion of affairs in Manila — in fact we always believed 
that the outbreak was managed from Manila — and 
there is little doubt that they intended to make 
Samar the starting point for a revolt throughout 
the whole archipelago. Everything was in their 
favour. The white troops could not be used against 
them owing to the exigencies of the political situa- 
tion, the islands being officially at peace ; and the 
Civil Government could spare very few of its own 
troops ; consequently, the pulajanes knew that there 
was only one course open to the authorities, the 
course actually followed — when the men in red 
took the field, sweeping down from the mountains 
on to the defenceless coast towns, the High Gods 
of Manila attempted to keep the news out of the 
press, by practically cutting off Samar from com- 
munication with the outer world, leaving the un- 
fortunate coastal people, the tao or peasantry, to 




WRECK OF S.S. MASBATE. 




KATUBIG, SAMAR. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 305 

their fate. Yet, for months past, those same tao, 
knowing the pulajanes were preparing to rise, had 
been sending frenzied appeals for protection to 
Manila. A thousand white troops distributed round 
the coast would have resulted in the saving of fifty 
thousand lives. There was actually a white regi- 
ment in the island, at Calbayog, yet, even when 
the pulajanes were burning and slaughtering a few 
miles away, it was not allowed to leave its camp. 
Officially, Samar was at peace; and if the 14th 
Infantry had taken the field the American nation 
might have begun to doubt the truth of official 
statements, which would have meant the loss of 
votes. So the tao were left to their fate. Within 
the year, nearly a hundred thousand of the natives 
of Samar perished, and the Island was absolutely 
ruined ; but still, the election was won. 



CHAPTER XXIX 

The Samar revolt blazed up suddenly, just before 
Christmas. At a place called Dolores, the pula- 
janes wiped out a force of Philippine Scouts, one 
man escaping out of forty-seven ; at Oras, the next 
town, they held a very carnival of massacre, abso- 
lutely destroying a settlement containing thirteen 
thousand people, leaving not one habitable build- 
ing. It was then that we first heard of the out- 
break, and decided to go down to see how the little 
brown brother looked when following the national 
occupations of arson and murder. Still, it was 
easier to say you wanted to go, than actually to go. 

The Civil Government dreaded publicity, which 
would involve the sending of the army, and, 
possibly, the exposure of much treason and corrup- 
tion in high places ; so it was obviously unwise to 
go to the palace for a permit. Moreover, we had 
absolutely no funds wherewith to pay our passages. 
In these circumstances, we did the only possible 
thing — we went to one of the local papers. The 
Manila Times, agreed, in return for a small advance, 
to act as correspondents at a ridiculously low rate ; 
then sought out the general at the fort, put the 
matter to him boldly, and induced him to give us 
permits to travel down to Samar on an army 
transport. 

The whole thing was arranged in twenty-four 
hours, and a second commission, from The Manila 
Cablenews, made matters easier, though, even then, 

306 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 307 

the two of us were taking our lives in our hands 
for a joint remuneration, which could not possibly 
exceed four pounds a week. We got the equiva- 
lent of ten shillings a column, and paid our own 
expenses ; so we were hardly sordid. On the 
other hand, of course, we had asked to be sent to 
Samar, not been asked to go, and the editors had 
a perfect right to cut us down to the limit. Later 
on, when we found how serious matters really were, 
we got the skipper of a coaster to take a cable for 
us, asking for a regular salary arrangement, but, 
though the message was sent off, it never reached 
Manila, a fate which befell practically all our cables. 
It was only the pulajanes and their friends in the 
Government offices who could get messages to or 
from Samar. 

We left Manila unostentatiously, on an army 
transport. The Governor General knew, unoffi- 
cially, that we were going, but he was, as I have 
said, a white gentleman. His colleagues, on the 
other hand, had no idea of our intentions, other- 
wise, I doubt if we should have started. We 
should probably have been charged with murder, 
or burglary, or something of that sort, and finally 
deported without being sent to trial. Still, the 
commissioners did not know, and, three days 
later, the transport landed us at Calbayog, one of 
the few unburned townships in Samar. The place 
owed its immunity to the fact that the 14th 
United States Infantry had a permanent camp 
about half-a-mile from it, and, though the 
regulars had strict orders to take no part in the 
conflict, the pulajanes knew better than to put those 
orders to too severe a test. 



308 THE DIARY OF 

Our real destination was Catbalogan, the capital 
of the island, some twenty miles down the coast ; 
but, as our transport was not going to call there, 
we left her at Calbayog, and went up to interview 
the officer commanding the infantry. We did not 
even know the name of this gentleman, but we had 
already had some experience of American army 
men, so we were not afraid of getting the some- 
what stiff reception which a British officer might 
have given us. Still, Major Parke came as a sur- 
prise. He was, I think, the most perfect example 
of a Southern gentleman it would be possible to 
find. We met many men we liked in the course of 
our wanderings, and I have met many more since ; 
but that old major still remains to me the ideal of 
courtesy and hospitality. 

We merely sent in our cards to him ; we had no 
introductions of any kind, no credentials ; but with- 
in a few minutes we were installed as his guests, 
to stay over the New Year festivities. True, he 
did offer to have steam got up in a launch at once 
and send us in it to Catbalogan ; but he did not 
want us to go ; and afterwards we were glad we 
had stayed. His officers were almost all of the 
same type as himself, and they gave us a splendid 
time. Incidentally, too, we got a good insight 
into the life of the American service, which differs 
greatly from the British in many respects. There 
is certainly less discipline, and more open grumbling. 
Possibly, this is inevitable when a man is a citizen 
first, free and independent, and a soldier afterwards ; 
but the short service, only three years in all, does 
not make for efficiency ; whilst the fact that, off 
duty, the non-commissioned officers are practically 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 309 

on a level with the men, and live with the men, is 
the cause of a good deal of slackness. 

There is nothing in the nature of an officers' mess. 
Every officer makes what arrangements he likes, 
and, sometimes, when one is hard up, he will actually 
mess with his own company. On the other hand, 
the American officer is essentially keen ; the army 
pays him an adequate salary, provides him with a 
lifelong career ; he learns to regard it as his home, 
and, as a result, takes comparatively little interest 
in civilian affairs. Politics do not affect him, as 
promotion is strictly by seniority, a regulation 
rendered necessary by the corruption of political 
life, though, as an officer seldom remains in the 
same regiment after promotion, there is a marked 
absence of esprit de corps. Still, even this state of 
affairs is preferable to making the service, like the 
civilian departments, the dumping ground for the 
President's personal supporters. 

The American soldier is well fed, well housed, 
well paid ; and, if the army had its own way, there 
would be little sickness amongst the troops in the 
islands. But wherever the civilian departments 
touch the service they leave a dirty mark. The 
Philippines are within a few degrees of the equator ; 
the heat of the sun is intense ; and British soldiers 
in the same latitudes would not be allowed out of 
barracks without sun helmets ; but the American 
troops are sent into the field with only light wide- 
awake hats, and the mortality, directly and indirectly 
due to this, has been enormous. True, the mistake 
is realised by those on the spot, but it cannot be 
remedied, as it was made by the Republican party in 
the first case, and to admit it now would mean the 



310 THE DIARY OF 

loss of many votes. Another fertile cause of sick- 
ness is the abolition of the regimental canteens, 
which resulted from the agitation of some society 
of female busybodies, which persuaded the President 
that the only way of catching the vote of the teetotal 
fanatics was to stop the soldiers from buying alcohol 
under state supervision. True, the Government did 
go through the farce of ascertaining the views of 
every officer above the rank of captain ; but, as only 
one advocate of prohibition could be found, it was 
considered that the officers must be as bad as the 
men, consequently, their opinions were ignored. 
In the canteen the soldier had been able to buy 
pure beer and spirits, and he had been prohibited 
from going elsewhere for alcohol ; when the canteens 
were abolished it became impossible to keep him 
out of the native grog shops, where the most vile 
decoctions were sold. As a result of temperance, 
crime in the service was more than doubled, whilst 
the death rate went up in almost the same degree. 
Yet, what matter, after all ? The Republican party 
secured the teetotal vote. 

We left Calbayog with regret after a stay of a 
week, and went on in an army launch to Catbalogan, 
the town which then formed the base of operations 
for the futile constabulary campaign against the 
pulajanes. Hitherto, we knew nothing of the Civil 
Government's troops, save that they were generally 
despised ; but we quickly got to know them, and to 
realise, that, in most cases, the estimate was not a 
just one. True, they were always miserably fed, 
miserably armed, with carbines made in 1872, and, 
very often, miserably officered ; but v/hen they had 
a good commander, a man who understood the 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 311 

difference between brown and white, and showed 
his troops that he understood it, they were capable 
of good things. Most of them were Luzon peasants, 
who had been recruited, as they thought, for poHce 
duty in their own island, and now found themselves 
sent out to be slaughtered by the most savage 
insurgents in the archipelago ; consequently, it is 
not surprising that they should feel little enthusiasm 
for the service, especially as their enemies were 
better armed and knew every inch of the ground. 
But, as a whole, the constabulary did their work 
manfully, and, though I have little love for the 
Filipino, I cannot deny that, before I left Samar, I 
had conceived a sincere regard for those ragged, 
half-starved little men who trudged into the jungle 
to be cut to pieces by the terrible bolos of the 
pulajanes. At least, they were better men than 
the white cowards in Manila who sent them there, 
who said : " This is a matter for police, not for 
soldiers," who declared solemnly, time after time, 
that there were only three hundred pulajanes in all, 
although they knew that there were certainly three 
thousand actual bolomen, and perhaps ten thousand 
more serving in other capacities, as lookout men, 
scouts and foragers. 

We had several companies of another native 
force, the Philippine Scouts, in Samar ; but though 
these are supposed to be infinitely superior to the 
constabulary, I must admit that they impressed me 
very unfavourably. I think they were the most 
inefficient and timid coloured troops I have ever 
seen. They may be better now, but at that time 
none of those with which I came into contact were 
fit to take the field against an enemy like the 



312 THE DIARY OF 

pulajanes ; yet they had everything the constabulary 
lacked — food, clothes, cartridges, boots, even cots 
and mosquito nets, in the jungle ; whilst their pay 
was infinitely better. The reason for the difference 
in equipment lay in the fact that the Scouts were 
maintained out of army funds — nominally they 
formed part of the regular army — whilst the 
islands themselves had to pay for the constabulary, 
and the officials who had come out to " make their 
pile " whilst their party was in power were naturally 
disinclined to squander money unnecessarily on the 
public service. Their own wants came first. 

The reason for the difference in efficiency was 
less easy to determine, but slackness of discipline 
had a good deal to do with it. The Scouts were 
pampered and overfed ; their officers made too 
much fuss about their comfort ; and, as a result, 
the men put too high a price on their own skins. 
In short, they were spoilt natives. They imagined 
themselves quite the equals of the white men, and 
were insolent to everybody. They objected to 
getting wet, they objected to getting muddy, in the 
wettest and muddiest spot in the world. They 
had been used to rice and fish in their homes, yet 
they grumbled if they did not have fresh meat 
and bread and coffee on active service, and, more 
amazino- still, their officers took their o-rumblinsrs 
to heart, and fussed round to get their food for 
them. Treated properly, as natives, the Scouts 
would have been as good as the constabulary, 
better perhaps, because they had boots and ammuni- 
tion ; as it was, however, they were little more than 
a nuisance, a very bad example of the effects of the 
little-brown-brother policy. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 313 

When we reached Catbalogan we found that the 
Government had suddenly decided to make an 
attempt to put down the pulajan rising, and, the 
election being over, was even going the length 
of allowing the 14th Infantry to garrison some of 
the coast towns, although as only a few of these 
remained unburned, and their inhabitants were 
either dead or in hiding, the step did not seem 
likely to have much effect on the situation. We 
found the commander-in-chief of the constabulary, 
a seconded cavalry captain with a kind of non- 
descript civil rank of " General," in Catbalogan, and 
obtained permission to join one of the parties of 
constabulary which was starting shortly for the 
north-east coast of the island. Whilst we were 
waiting to get away, I sent the following account 
to Manila : — 

*' Catbalogan has not the appearance of the centre 
of operations against a serious rebellion ; m fact 
it is hard to picture it as the centre of anything. 
It just looks, and smells, like an ordinary Filipino 
town — a rickety wooden pier, a few score native 
shacks, two or three fairly substantial stone buildings, 
a painfully inartistic church, a huge wooden belfry 
in the middle of the plaza where a gallows should 
be, many dogs of undecided breed and objection- 
able tendencies, a few obviously weary natives, 
and a multitude of pigs, great, medium and small, 
routing amongst the innumerable heaps of refuse. 

*' The largest house in the place is General Allen's 
headquarters, as is evident from the khaki-clad 
sentries pacing outside, and the half-dozen con- 
stabulary lounging ungracefully in the doorway. 
Outside, along the main street, nothing seems 



314 THE DIARY OF 

moving. A native is sleeping over a net he had 
started to mend ; he had spread it over the roadway, 
hghted a cigarette ; and then exhaustion must have 
overcome him. Another, near by, is seeing how 
long it is possible to spend over the manufacture 
of a length of twine. Two or three women are 
languidly gossiping in the doorway of a Chinaman's 
shop, and a mangy dog is nosing round for stray 
pieces of offal, being in fact, the only reasonably 
busy creature in sight. 

" There are many rumours in the town, and many 
theories and plans. Every white man has a different 
tale to tell, a different scheme to expound. Accord- 
ing to some, the situation is grave, even alarming. 
The pulajanes are everywhere, every native is really 
in sympathy with them, and ready at a moment's 
notice to take a hand in the gentle game of bolo 
rushes. Another dismisses the whole affair with 
a shrug of his shoulders — probably he has never 
seen the big knives flashing in the jungle — and 
seems inclined to doubt the very existence of the 
insurrectos. Some, the sane ones, would call in 
the military and end the whole trouble by following 
old Simon de Montfort's plan ' Kill all. The Lord 
will know His own.' Others favour gentler methods 
— moral suasion coupled with the Child's First 
Reader, and, later on, the square on the hypothe- 
nuse and Emerson. To which plan the scoffers 
answer pointedly ' First catch your pulajan ' even 
inserting a rude, qualifying adjective. And so it 
goes on. 

" Many have tried to explain the cause of the 
trouble. It is the hemp trade, or the money- 
lenders, or the innate nastiness of the Samar native, 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 315 

so they say outside Catbalogan ; but if you go to 
the town itself you will find one very good reason 
why men should leave all and take to the hills — it 
is the Catbalogan band. They say the Filipinos 
are essentially a musical race. This may be so, 
but in that case only the tone deaf and the riff-raff 
can remain ; those with any ear for harmony must 
long since have fled. That band would drive a 
white man to drink ; but the Asiatic character is 
different, and, instead of drowning his sorrows in 
bad liquor, the native of these parts treks to the 
hills, sharpens his bolo, and kills everyone he 
meets, presumably on the chance of his victim 
being a retired member of that town band. 

" At the moment, there seems to be a lull in opera- 
tions by or against the pulajanes. Nothing much 
has happened since the massacres at Oras and 
Dolores ; at anyrate, no news has drifted round to 
here yet. Drifted is the only word at all appropriate ; 
for with no telegraphs, no roads, many energetic 
pulajanes, and the swell of the monsoon rolling in 
like a mountain on the eastern and southern coasts, 
communications are more than difficult. 

*' The pulajanes, they tell us, are to be routed out, 
and hustled, and fought, and pacified ; but will they 
fight ? That is the question. Will they not go on 
as they have been doing so far, lying low until they 
get the chance of making a sudden dash with their 
bolos on some winded, half-starved column trailing 
along in single file up a narrow footpath ? You 
cannot call that fighting. It is just massacre — a 
few moments' wild cutting and slashing, a futile 
volley from the constabulary's futile Springfields, a 
vision of the soldiers frenziedly trying to ward off 



316 THE DIARY OF 

the big knives with the butt ends of their carbines, 
and then the enemy has dived back into the 
jungle, leaving a score of dead and dying behind 
him. 

** They have given each of us a Winchester re- 
peater — a shot-gun, not a rifle — a weapon which will 
make quite sure of a boloman up to twenty yards, 
and to-morrow we are going round on a coastguard 
steamer with Captain Crockett and his constabulary 
to a place called San Ramon. They rather laugh 
at us here as mad Englishmen ; but at least they 
are going to give us a chance to see what is going 
on, though whether we ever manage to send out 
any copy is another thing. I am convinced it would 
never be allowed to go through the post. They 
open letters in these islands, if they suspect them 
of containing criticisms of the Government. I 
suppose that is what they call being free and in- 
dependent — free with other men's property and 
lives, independent of any considerations of common 
decency. 

"We went through Catbalogan Gaol to-day. 
They have a pulajan there, awaiting trial. He was 
caught red-handed, murdering tao ; but in a year or 
two he will probably be in the Civil Service, being 
a little brown brother. The only other interesting 
prisoner is a white soldier, a regular. He was on 
sentry duty, and shot an armed native who refused 
to stand when challenged. The civil authorities 
grabbed him from the military, and his sentence is 
twenty years' hard labour. Has he not slain his 
brown brother? Probably the sentence will be 
quashed, after he has spent some four years in 
prison ; but the matter is interesting as showing 



A SOLDIER OP FORTUNE 317 

the savagely vindictive spirit which the Manila 
authorities display towards the army." 

This was written on 3rd January 1905. The 
following morning we were on board the coastguard 
steamer Leyte^ heading for the north coast of 
Samar. 



CHAPTER XXX 

The Leyte took a couple of days reaching our 
destination, San Ramon, which was situated, or had 
been situated, at the head of a long, narrow bay. 
Navigation is no easy matter in those Philippine 
waters, which are still practically uncharted ; whilst 
even where soundings have been taken you are 
never sure that a new coral reef has not been recently 
formed. Outside San Ramon Bay, right on the 
top of a reef, high and dry at low water, we found 
the wreck of the Leyte s sister-ship, the Masbate, 
No one was very certain how she came to be there, 
and more than one ugly rumour was floating round ; 
but I believe the whole thing was purely accidental. 
The crew had managed to escape, first to a sand- 
sprit at the other end of the reef, then, next morning, 
to the shore. Fortunately, they were able also to 
salve the Gatling gun and some rifles and ammuni- 
tion ; otherwise they would probably have had an 
exciting time ; for their brown brothers were watch- 
ing them — the whole coast was patrolled by the 
pulajanes, who had a most marvellous system of look- 
out stations — and, at the very spot where they 
landed, they found the mutilated bodies of seven 
women. They made a camp, stockaded roughly, 
with the Gatling gun in position, and prepared for 
fraternal advances from the pulajanes ; but, by a 
lucky chance, another steamer came through the 
straits on the second morning, and the shipwrecked 
crew was able to attract her attention. Yet, later 

3x8 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 319 

on, I knew a whole month go by without a single 
vessel passing within sight of that point. 

The Leyte anchored off the reef, and we went 
aboard the wreck, but found little of any value re- 
maining. Everything had been torn out of her 
by a salvage party, which had worked hurriedly, 
in fear of the pulajanes, and though there were 
apparently some cases of provisions in the hold we 
had not the time to get down and investigate these, 
as the skipper of the Leyte wanted to enter the bay 
that tide. 

It was curious that the pulajanes should have 
left the wreck alone. It was not because there 
were none about ; we quickly disproved that theory, 
for, as the first ship's boat's keel grated on the 
beach, one of their scouts jumped up from under 
a bush and dashed for the jungle, leaving behind 
him his bolo, his papers and his uniform. The 
latter consisted of a rough canvas jumper with red 
shoulder straps and a red cross in front, the material 
being stamped with the mark of the 9th American 
Infantry. He had two passes, one a registration 
certificate from the Civil Government, the other 
from the pulajan authorities, on a printed form, 
stamped with an official die ; which seemed to show 
that, for mere ignorant fanatics, the pulajanes were 
fairly well up-to-date in their methods. 

As he fled, one of the officers took a shot at the 
scout with his revolver, but missed. Still, as we 
found out only too quickly, this did not make much 
difference. There were two or three more lookout 
men round the bay and the news of our landing 
would have reached the pulajanes in any case, if 
in fact, they were not aware of the intended occupa- 



320 THE DIARY OF 

tion of Sam Ramon long before we, ourselves, 
knew of it. Nothing that happened, either in the 
palace in Manila or in the headquarters at Catba- 
logan was a secret to the pulajanes for very long. 

A very few minutes' investigation sufficed to 
show us all that remained of San Ramon. Two 
skulls stuck on the top of blackened poles grinned 
hideously at us. A few hundred half-burned 
timbers, leaning drunkenly in every direction, served 
to show where the houses had been before the 
pulajanes came down. The largest pile of ashes 
represented the church. The Presidente's house 
had, however, been a new one, with its timber frame 
still green, consequently it had resisted the fire fairly 
well, evidently to the annoyance of the insurrectos, 
who had laboriously hacked away its main supports, 
leaving it canted over at a dangerous angle. Giant 
creepers and tall grass had already sprung up 
everywhere, hiding the remains of the murdered 
inhabitants, though as you walked about, every 
now and then you stumbled against a fresh skull. 

The only things which had been respected were 
four much-chipped plaster saints, which had been 
placed on an old table under a big tree, whence 
they smiled on us with the same benevolen<:e they 
had shown towards both murderers and murdered. 
I do not know what the saints represented ; none 
of our men could tell me ; but this I do know — they 
were no more inefficient than was the Civil Govern- 
ment in Manila. Both had failed to save San 
Ramon from the pulajanes. The people had 
prayed to the saints, and they had sent a pitiful 
request for protection to the Americans. Ten 
white soldiers would have saved them, yet they 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 321 

were told that there were really no pulajanes worthy 
of the consideration of the officials in Manila. 
At that point, the story of the San Ramon people 
stops short, for the pulajanes came and wiped them 
out, so the rest of the tale would be one-sided, and 
therefore hardly worth telling. And, after all, 
President Roosevelt was re-elected, and his para- 
sites in Manila retained their jobs. These are 
triumphs of civilisation, beside which the dead of 
San Ramon are of absolutely no importance. I 
do not know whether I am right, but, from what 
I saw subsequently, I have come to the conclusion 
that you cannot attain to a due sense of proportion 
in these matters until you have seen, as I have 
seen, the working of the American party machine 
in Manila. When you have done that, you begin 
to realise, dimly, perhaps, as through a mist of 
blood, the paramount importance of Votes ; you see 
that a hundred thousand human lives are as nothing 
provided the President's friends retain their ofifices. 
Possibly, this will entail a reconstruction of ideas, 
a shifting of your moral standpoint ; but it must 
be right, because it leads to financial glory — for 
the President's friends. What wonder if the 
Americans call us an effete nation ! We must 
be, because we have not yet reached, we never 
shall reach, the height of understanding these 
great and immutable truths. We are still stumbling 
in the dark, savages with savage ideals, counting 
human lives instead of counting votes. Is not a 
Vote the end of modern civilisation ? Can man 
achieve more than the right to choose his own 
tyrants and despoilers ? Yet, though I have seen 
the civilisation of Manila, I must be still uncivilised, 



322 THE DIARY OF 

for I feel that, where I erected a polHng booth, 1 
would also erect a gallows forty feet high, as a 
warning to candidates, and I would use that gallows 
frequently. 

By the time our whole force, a hundred and 
twenty native soldiers and five white men, had 
been landed, the sun was setting in a sky heavy with 
the promise of rain. They had dumped us on the 
beach, in a hostile country, and the steamer had 
gone away. We had no tents, nothing to shelter 
us from the tropical storms ; whilst we knew, only 
too well, that the jungle a few yards away held the 
scouts of the enemy, and that any moment a large 
force of pulajanes might be on us, cutting and 
slashing with their detestable bolos. We camped 
that night round the ruins of the President's house, 
so that we should at least be safe from attack on 
the seaward side, whilst the raised floor would give 
a score or so of us a chance of shooting effectively, 
or as effectively as one can shoot in the dark. 

I had been scared before, in Africa, by lions, by 
fever, by the death which seems to lurk everywhere 
in the Mozambique jungles ; but somehow I had 
never known more than a momentary sensation, 
bad whilst it lasted, but quickly over ; now, however, 
I got down to the real thing, and I did not like it. 

Amyas was utterly devoid of the sense of fear. 
He was incapable of being afraid, I believe ; 
consequently, that first night in San Ramon he 
merely oiled his shot-gun carefully, tried the action 
once or twice, then rolled himself up in his old 
Jaeger blanket and went to sleep. The two lieu- 
tenants, youngsters also, followed his example ; 
but the captain and I squatted in the lee of a 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 323 

blanket we had rigged up, and, with our Win- 
chesters across our knees and a demijohn of alleged 
Kentucky Rye within reach, waited for the pula- 
janes. 

I will not say it was raining, because the word 
is hopelessly inadequate. Rather, the water was 
coming down in lumps, and the night was black as 
the record of most of the Philippine commissioners. 
Though we could not see it, we knew that the edge 
of the jungle was but some thirty yards away, that 
from the time the bolomen broke cover until the 
time they were actually on us would be but a matter 
of seconds. We knew, too, that there were pula- 
janes unpleasantly close. Twice, an alarm horn 
brayed out, and in the lull between the rain squalls 
we could hear voices. We were wet through, of 
course ; but still, the blanket enabled us to smoke, 
and, possibly, the glow of our cigars had some- 
thing to do with keeping the bolomen back. At 
least they knew we were awake. When we 
shivered, which was often, we drank Kentucky 
Rye, neat. 

It was Crockett's duty to be there, and, I daresay, 
he found some consolation in the thought, being 
a clean, patriotic American, a Southerner of the 
Southerners, hating Yankees and other politicians ; 
but I kept telling myself that I was there merely 
because I was an unmitigated ass, who had butted 
his head into another nation's trouble, and was 
likely to lose that same head in consequence. I 
got down to some crude truths that drenching 
night. I knew, as well as Crockett did, that we 
were in an ugly position, that, in the dark, an equal 
number of bolomen could literally cut us to pieces, 



324 THE DIARY OF 

just as they had done a few weeks before at Dolores, 
when one man escaped out of forty-seven. The 
positions were exactly similar. I had plenty of time 
to think it over as I squatted in the lee of that 
blanket, chewing the end of my cigar. Every now 
and then we wiped our shot-guns and tried the 
actions, or waded out into the mud to make sure 
that the sentries had not been stabbed ; but, for my 
part at least, those tasks did not seem to make one 
either warmer or more cheerful, I was unfeignedly 
glad when dawn came, bringing with it a cessation 
of the rain. 

Amyas had his coffee before he got out of his 
soaking blankets, remarked he had slept well, 
despite the wet, got up, shaved very carefully, put 
on a clean shirt, and then proceeded to do more 
hard, physical work than any other two men in the 
outfit. He was not by any means a big man, and 
I think it was only when you saw him in evening 
dress that you realised how perfectly he was propor- 
tioned ; consequently when those Filipino soldiers 
saw him pick up a baulk of timber they shook their 
heads in amazement, just as the Kaffirs had done in 
Africa, thinking it was uncanny. 

Crockett's orders were to pacify San Ramon. 
In one way, the task was an impossible one, for the 
pulajanes had already carried out the job in their 
way. San Ramon was just a heap of ashes, and 
the people of San Ramon were either dead or in 
hiding. Still, there we were, and there we had got 
to stay, until the pulajanes came down and wiped 
out our force. In the circumstances, the obvious 
thing was to build some kind of fort, but as a frugal 
government had sent the constabulary out with no 




OFFICERS, SAX RAIMON. 
Amvas P. Hyatt on risjlit, in frf)nt. 




OUTSIDE PORT SAN RAMON. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 325 

equipment of any sort, no axes, or shovels, or picks, 
the job promised to be a difficult one. Still, 
Crockett was essentially a man used to difficulties, 
and he saw a way out of the trouble. 

There were, as I have mentioned, hundreds of 
charred timbers lying about. From amongst these 
we managed to select enough to build a large 
stockade of an average height of about twelve feet. 
We dug trenches for the posts with sharpened 
sticks ; we trimmed up our posts with bolos. In the 
middle of the stockade was the Presidente's ruined 
house, which we shored up and straightened some- 
how or other, then rethatched with nipa palms 
until it made habitable quarters. True, the floors 
were painfully shaky, and one had to walk, deli- 
cately, like Agag of old ; but still, it served to keep 
off the rain, whilst from the platform inside the 
stockade, a good eight feet off the ground, we 
could shoot down on any pulajanes who were 
venturesome enough to attack us. 

We spent three or four more anxious nights, 
and, incidentally, finished the Kentucky Rye ; but 
the enemy did not interfere with us, and on the 
fifth morning our fort was complete, even to the 
old church bell over the gateway, on which the 
corporal of the guard used to sound the hours, 
ship fashion. Then we sat down to wait for 
developments, which were painfully slow in 
coming. 

For the first day or two we used to sit on the 
platform and take pot shots at the pulajan scouts 
on the other side of the bay ; but as the range 
was nine hundred yards, and we had not a single 
accurate rifle, we soon grew tired of that. The 



326 THE DIARY OF 

pulajanes had little camps all round us, in a range 
of miniature hills, and whenever we located one of 
these, by the smoke rising from the camp fire, we 
used to trudge out to it through the mud, not 
because we had any hope of finding anyone there — 
the alarm horns invariably brayed out the moment 
we left the fort — but because our sallying out was 
an invitation to the pulajanes to attack us. Still, 
they never accepted. 

We found a number of these little outposts and 
duly burned the shelters, but we were none the 
better for that and the pulajanes none the worse. 
Once, and once only, we did get near a scout. He 
had picked up an American flag somewhere, and 
he had been so busy cutting out the red stripes, in 
order to make the cross for his uniform, that he 
had not heard us coming ; but he got away in the 
end — at anyrate there was no blood spoor — and 
our loot consisted only of a bamboo spear, which 
we did not want. 

One thing which we did need, however, was a 
fleet of canoes. The coast of Samar consists 
mainly of mangrove swamps, varied by arms of 
the sea which run inland ten miles or so before 
they become crossable ; consequently, when the 
Filipino wants to go from one coast town to 
another he makes the journey in a dug-out. Un- 
fortunately for us, however, the pulajanes realised 
this fact, and whenever they burned a coast town 
they also destroyed all the canoes they could find. 
On the other hand, the people of San Ramon had 
been expecting a massacre, and had hidden the 
majority of their canoes amongst the mangroves 
which fringed the arms of their bay, doubtless 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 327 

hoping to be able to reach them when the attack 
came, and paddle away to safety. 

The largest dug-out of San Ramon, possibly the 
state barge of the Presidente, a huge, hollowed 
tree trunk, capable of holding twenty men, had 
been temporarily disabled by having a hole, a foot 
square, hewn in its bottom. Subsequently, I 
managed to repair this craft, chopping a piece 
out of a half-burned table to fit the " leak," caulk- 
ing the joints with hemp, and then fixing patches 
made from flattened-out codfish tins inside and 
out ; but at first we did not think of this, and 
confined our energies to searching for smaller 
canoes. 

The first one we found was capable of holding 
four men, provided there was not too much wind ; 
and then the rest was easy. You stripped down 
to a shirt and a pair of linen drawers, took a shot- 
gun and a cartridge belt, and then, accompanied 
by three of the native soldiers, you paddled round 
the coast, and explored every possible hiding place. 
It was a great game. Sometimes you found a 
canoe, and towed it home in triumph ; sometimes 
you found the remains of one of the inhabitants of 
San Ramon ; sometimes you got a shot at a pulajan 
scout who had been watching you for the last hour ; 
sometimes the pulajan got a shot at you, or jumped 
at you with a bolo the moment you set foot on 
land. As time went on, and our little fleet on the 
beach increased to six or eight craft, the pulajanes 
began to think we were scoring too many points ; 
consequently, the game grew distinctly dangerous, 
too dangerous for me ; but, despite my protests, 
Amyas and three devoted little brown men con- 



328 THE DIARY OF 

tinued to play it, though the spoils grew less and 
less every day. 

Soon after I repaired the big canoe we made an 
expedition in force. Someone declared that there 
were pigs at Igut, the next burned town, and, as we 
were hungering for fresh meat, Crockett decided 
to go and shoot some of those same porkers. The 
San Ramon navy went out in style — the big canoe 
with twelve native soldiers and three white men, 
and five smaller canoes with three men in each. 
We had counted on having to go round the western 
arm of the bay, close to where lay the wreck of the 
Masbate, but, by a stroke of luck, we found a 
curious passage through the mangrove swamp, 
a straight waterway ten yards wide and nearly 
a mile in length, leading into the Igut inlet, saving 
us nearly ten miles of hard paddling. This was 
so totally unexpected that we began to discuss the 
idea of roast pork for supper that very night ; but, 
unfortunately, the tide was running out fast, and 
we stuck in the mud a mile from our destination. 

Only those who have tried to wade through 
a mangrove swamp can realise what it means. 
Words are hopelessly inadequate to express it. 
You are never less than knee deep, and often 
waist deep, in the ghastly grey slime. You pull 
yourself along by clutching the snakelike black 
roots, whilst abominable, stinking marsh gases 
bubble up around you. You do half-a-mile an 
hour, with luck, and every hundred yards you 
stop to make sure that the mud has not clogged 
the action of your shot-gun, for the Filipino in- 
surgent is quite at home amongst the mangroves, 
being, after all, more like a monkey than a man. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 329 

We got to Igut at last, just as it was getting 
dark ; but though we found the remains of one 
or two of its inhabitants, and heard a solitary 
cock crowing in the jungle, there were no signs 
of pigs. In fact the ruin of the place was as 
complete as that of San Ramon ; it was just like 
nineteen out of twenty of the towns of Samar at 
that time. 

It was raining, of course, so we made a shelter 
of palm leaves, which did not keep off the wet, 
and, after a meal of sweet potatoes, lay down in 
the mud and tried to persuade ourselves that we 
were not cold and hungry and miserable, and that 
the surrounding bush was not full of pulajanes. 
I remember we all envied one of the lieutenants, 
who, by some extraordinary chance, happened to 
have brought along a spare pair of breeches which, 
through being rolled up in his blanket, were still 
dry. However, he got them fairly wet during 
the process of changing, and that fact consoled 
us a little. 

Next morning we searched for the reputed 
pigs, and found only pulajan lookout places and 
a woman's head, so, after grubbing up more 
sweet potatoes and roasting them in the ashes, 
we started back for the place where we had left 
our canoes, arriving just in time to see a small 
party of pulajanes landing on the opposite bank 
of the inlet. We kept out of sight, hoping there 
would be more to follow, but in vain, and at last 
we launched our own dug-outs and started home- 
wards, in the teeth of a stiff head wind. It was 
sunset when we entered the passage through the 
big mangrove swamp, nearly dark when we 



330 THE DIARY OF 

reached the other end, and meanwhile the breeze 
had stiffened to half-a-crale. Two of the small 

O 

canoes were leading, and as they emerged out of 
the mangroves into the bay, from the big canoe 
we could just see the wind catch them, apparently 
curl round them, and sweep them away, despite 
the frenzied efforts of their crews. In a few 
seconds they were lost to sight in the darkness. 
We were powerless to help ; all we could do was 
to make our great, unwieldy craft fast to some 
overhanofinor branches and wait for the dawn. I 
think it was one of the most uncomfortable nights I 
have ever spent. You cannot lie down in a dug-out, 
unless you have the whole space to yourself; you 
can only squat, cramped up ; moreover, we were 
very wet, we had nothing to eat, we had finished 
our tobacco, and we believed we had lost six 
men. 

The dawn seemed an interminable time coming, 
but when it did the wind had dropped, and we 
were able to get back to the fort, where we 
found the missing soldiers. They had been blown 
straight ashore, on the sandy part of the beach, 
and, owing to the darkness, the pulajanes had 
not discovered them ; then, as soon as it was 
light enough to see where they were, they had 
hurried back through the jungle, to San Ramon. 

The expedition was typical of many we made. 
They all ended in failure, owing to the splendid 
system of lookout stations organised by the enemy. 
We could never move a hundred yards from the 
fort without the fact being signalled immediately. 
As we left, the first warning, a long, deep note 
on the boudjon or alarm horn, boomed out, to be 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 331 

taken up and repeated time after time, until the 
sound was lost beyond the range of hills. Some- 
times it seemed to come from the tree tops, some- 
times from amongst the grass ; anyway, we never 
saw the boudjon blower. He appeared to sound 
his warning, and then to vanish utterly. There 
was a weird and uncanny air about the whole 
thing. It gave you a sense of utter hopelessness ; 
you felt your task was so futile, that the pulajan 
was always the better man, that he knew and you 
did not, that he could see and you could not. You 
grew to loathe, but, at the same time, you grew 
to fear, him vaguely ; and the more you knew of 
him the more the dread of Samar, the gloom of 
that horrible jungle, settled down on you. No 
man laughed in Samar in those days. Death 
was stalking by your side all day, squatting just 
beyond the circle of firelight at night. You could 
not forget that he was there ; the chill of his 
presence was always on you. 

No quarter — that was the rule of the game in 
Samar, the only rule. It was not a war, but just 
a killing of men, wholly brutal and, what was worse, 
wholly unnecessary, unless, of course, you reckon 
votes as a necessity. What was the use of taking 
wounded prisoners along with you, when you knew 
that the mud and rain would inevitably produce 
gangrene in a few hours ? It was kinder, and 
quicker, to kill them, kinder too, although it sounds 
unutterably horrible, to kill off your own wounded. 
But it is no use raking up the past now. The dead 
lie there, in the silence of the jungle, and we who 
came through it want to forget it. 

I daresay it is with the others as it is with me, 



332 A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 

every now and then they wake up at night, groping 
for the shot-gun, crying out that the pulajanes are 
coming. You cannot quite forget those things ; 
they remain graven on your memory, the fear and 
the horror of them, the dread of death — or rather 
the dread of dying uselessly in the mud, and of 
being buried in the mud. There is only this con- 
solation — you know you have been right down to 
primitive things, you have known the worst, and, 
when other men talk to you of the wars through 
which they have been, you can feel assured that 
you have experienced something more ghastly — the 
fear of the bolomen slashing and jabbing In the 
darkness and the rain. 



CHAPTER XXXI 

When we landed at San Ramon, we had three 
weeks' provisions ; consequently, at the end of a 
month, we were getting short of most things. The 
Government had promised to send a coastguard 
steamer round with supplies, but the one which 
arrived had only some rather mouldy rice. Crockett 
took a good deal of the latter — luckily, as it turned 
out — and sent an urgent request for another con- 
signment ; then, knowing the ways of his superiors, 
he decided to go across country to Oras, some 
twenty-five miles away, where there was a white 
garrison, and a company of Scouts. 

We started at dawn, Crockett, one of the 
lieutenants, sixty soldiers and myself, leaving the 
other lieutenant and Amyas, with sixty-five men, 
in the fort. The boudjon went as we filed out of 
the gateway, and again when the lookout men saw 
which path we were taking ; consequently, we had 
no chance of surprising any pulajanes, although 
they might rush us. We had the usual sort of 
country to cross — mud and mountains, a seemingly 
endless succession of small, steep ranges, with 
reeking black quagmires in the valleys, and horrible 
slimy red clay on the slopes. All the little bridges 
over the streams were broken down, and several 
times we had to wade breast deep, and once it was 
necessary to cut down hemp palms and make a raft. 
The heat in that steaming jungle was appalling. 
The perspiration ran down into your eyes, half 
333 



334 THE DIARY OF 

blinding you ; the clinging mud made the very lift- 
ing of your feet a toil ; and alv/ays you seemed to 
be climbing, whilst you knew that any moment the 
men in red might be dashing down into the winded, 
exhausted column which, travelling of necessity in 
single file, sometimes tailed out for over half-a-mile. 
Crockett and I were at the point, the lieutenant 
brought up the rear. He was a very big heavy man, 
physically unsuited for jungle work, and the march- 
ing tried him severely. When we stopped at mid- 
day for some food — sweet potatoes and army 
biscuit as usual — I saw he was knocked out, and 
two miles farther on, just after we had crossed the 
fresh spoor of a big band of pulajanes, he had 
to give in. 

Crockett was in a hurry to go on, fearing that if 
he delayed he might find the camp at Oras already 
broken up ; so he decided to take only twenty men, 
and to leave the lieutenant and myself behind with 
the rest. He told us to make our way down to the 
Oras River, which was, as far as we knew, about 
two miles away. Then, we were to make some 
sort of a camp, and, if he could find any canoes at 
Oras, he would come and fetch us in the morning. 
The prospect was not a very cheerful one. We 
knew, from the spoor we had seen, that at least 
a hundred pulajanes were in the neighbourhood, 
whilst only some twenty miles up the river was 
Maslog, the reputed headquarters of the insurrectos. 
Crockett was very loath to leave us, but, in the cir- 
cumstances, it was the only thing to do. I would 
have gone with him gladly, as I had no fancy for 
being cut up, but that was impossible in view of 
the lieutenant's condition. 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 335 

Crockett continued along the Oras trail, and was 
soon lost to view in the jungle, whilst we turned 
off due south, going very slowly. After a quarter 
of an hour's tramping we came on two or three 
native houses, the first unburned ones we had seen 
that day, an obvious sign that their owner was a 
pulajan ; and a moment later, whilst we were having 
a look round, one of our sentries caught sight of 
a native creeping away through the long grass. 
We were evidently in dangerous country, so I 
urged the lieutenant to push on to the river. 

We left the trees, and began to climb one of the 
inevitable small hills, but were scarcely half way up 
when there was a shout of delight from the sergeant. 
He had spied two water buffalo, the ordinary cattle 
of Samar, tied up amongst the trees. As it was 
a month since we had tasted fresh meat, we 
naturally took them along with us, and I believe 
the prospect of having a real feed that night almost 
made the men forget the other prospect — that of 
being cut to pieces by the pulajanes before dawn. 

It wanted a couple of hours to sunset when we 
reached the Oras River, and I suggested searching 
round for an open spot, and making a zariba of 
bush ; but, as luck would have it, we came on a 
small shack with a raised floor and open sides, and 
there the lieutenant decided to camp. It was as bad 
a place as one could well imagine, surrounded by 
some of the thickest jungle I had seen in the island. 
The pulajanes could easily have got within ten 
yards of us before we even knew they were there, 
and, though the floor of the shack was certainly a 
couple of feet from the ground, there was only 
room on it for about a dozen men. 



336 THE DIARY OF 

The position scared me, I do not mind admitting 
that ; but I was, after all, only in the position of 
a kind of volunteer, and the man in command was 
unwillinor to make another move. He laughed at 
my misgivings. So far, he said, he had never 
been in a fight, and he believed he never would 
be in one. It was his luck, and he was confoundedly 
tired. He carried his fatalism so far that I had 
some difficulty in getting him to post any sentries : 
the poor little soldiers were tired too, he said. As 
for slaughtering the water buffalo, he asked me to 
see to that, as he hated anything in the nature of 
butchering jobs, whilst, as an old hunter, I was 
used to it. 

I selected the fatter of the buffalo, then had its 
mate taken to the other side of the shack, and tied 
up some twenty yards away, where it would not 
smell the blood. I saw to the tying myself, so that 
there should be no mistake, and noticed, at the 
time, that one of the sentries was posted within 
thirty feet of it. Then I had the other animal 
killed with a bolo, not using a rifle on it for fear 
of letting any possible pulajanes know our exact 
position ; but the precaution was wasted, for a few 
minutes later a shot rang out. The lieutenant had 
gone down to the river bank, and, seeing a crocodile, 
had fired at it. 

When we had finished cutting up the buffalo, 
I went to look for its mate. The sentry was still 
there, but the buffalo had gone. The bush was so 
thick that the pulajanes had been able to steal in 
and untie the head rope without being detected. If 
I was uncomfortable before, I was trebly so now, 
and the men began to look at one another with 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 337 

questioning eyes. But still the lieutenant only- 
laughed, and, after a hearty meal of buffalo meat 
and sweet potatoes, prepared to turn in. He was 
feeling better now, and chaffed me, in his heavy, 
good-natured way, when I wanted permission to 
double the sentries. He was sure the pulajanes 
would not come, whilst I was equally sure that they 
would be with us just before dawn, and do to us 
as they had done to the Scouts at Dolores, twenty 
miles away. 

I got to understand the psychology of fear that 
night ; and yet, though I was as thoroughly alarmed 
as a man can be, I am not sure that this feeling was 
not swamped in the end by a sense of impotent anger. 
I felt I had been such a fool. I had got into the 
whole business merely through my own idiocy. 
Personally, I had no quarrel with the pulajanes, no 
interest in the American success. I had nothing to 
gain, and everything to lose. I was going to be 
killed by a howling little brown savage, and my 
body would be mutilated and left to decay on the 
bank of the Oras River, and no one would be any 
the better for that fact. 

I cleaned my shot-gun, saw that the men over- 
hauled their unwieldy old carbines, then sat for 
about three hours swearing at things in general 
and myself in particular ; but, at last, in sheer 
desperation, I lay down and did a thing which. 
I should have believed impossible — forced myself 
to go to sleep in order to forget all about it, at 
least until the pulajanes came. 

It was about an hour later when I jumped up 
suddenly. Someone had fired a rifle about a mile 
away. The guard roused the men, and we listened 



338 THE DIARY OF 

intently. A minute later we heard another shot, 
then, after an equal interval, another. I, for one, 
muttered a thanksCTivingr. It was the sig-nal arransfed 
with Crockett. Half-an-hour later, five big canoes, 
containing Crockett, a Scout officer, and some Scouts 
as oarsmen, appeared in sight and took us aboard. 
It turned out that at Oras Crockett had learned 
that there were some four hundred picked pulajan 
bolomen in our immediate neighbourhood, and 
there was not the slightest doubt that, had we 
remained where we were, our little party would 
have been massacred before dawn. It would have 
been merely a question of two or three minutes of 
bolo work. 

Crockett had arrived wet, hungry and tired 
out. The town, or rather the ruins of it, was 
garrisoned by a company of Scouts, whilst a com- 
pany of white infantry which had come to relieve 
these was at that moment engaged in getting its 
kit up from the landing stage. In addition to 
these, there was a rabble of friendlies, or volunteers, 
armed with bolos and spears of pointed bamboo. 
When Crockett and his ragged little band appeared 
in sight at the end of the long clearing on which 
Oras had stood, the volunteers on outpost duty im- 
mediately decided they were pulajanes, and fled, yell- 
ing, to the Scout camp. The Scouts, who were very 
raw and unreliable, caught the alarm, and swarmed 
into their barracks, a ruined convent, clambered to 
the platform, and prepared to fire, whilst the white 
infantry, hearing the uproar^ naturally left their 
work and rushed for their rifles. 

A less experienced man than Crockett might 
have come on and been shot down ; but fortunately 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 339 

the constabulary captain knew the ways of Scouts 
and volunteers. He realised what was the matter, 
and, climbing on to a small mound, waved his 
handkerchief; but even then, when the white 
officers had grasped who it was, it was with diffi- 
culty that the Scouts were restrained from firing oft 
their rifles. I made an expedition later with some 
of the force, and I think they were the most un- 
steady, and the most easily scared, crowd I have 
ever seen. 

Crockett was tired out, but he was not going to 
leave us up the Oras River to be wiped out by the 
pulajanes, so, after he had snatched a mouthful of 
food, he went down to the beach, selected his 
canoes, and immediately started back to our relief ; 
and there is no doubt that by doing so he saved 
the lives of all of us. 

We stayed in the neighbourhood of Oras three 
days, not for the charm of the place itself — the 
town of eleven thousand inhabitants had been wiped 
out so completely that after the massacre the only 
living thing found in it was one hamstrung horse — 
but because there was reported to be a strong band 
of pulajanes in another burned town, San Polycarpio, 
and Crockett was eager to come across them. 
However, it was the same old game over again. 
The boudjon blowers announced our coming, and, 
though we did run across a small band of the enemy, 
nothing particular happened, and when we got to 
San Polycarpio we found it apparently deserted. 
We camped near it that night, on a small knoll, 
and, as soon as it was dark, the pulajanes gathered 
round. We could hear them talking some thirty 
or forty yards away, and once or twice we caught 



340 A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 

the glimmer of a torch ; but we never saw anything 
to shoot at, which was rather fortunate ; otherwise 
all our men would have begun to shoot, and then 
the bolomen would have come in under cover of the 
smoke. It rained all night, and, as usual, we had 
no shelter, whilst leeches innumerable crawled up 
our legs and grew fat at our expense. Still, by that 
time I was getting used to the game. Every time 
you slept out — that is, slept in the mud — the same 
thing occurred. You could ill spare the blood when 
you had so little to nourish you, but the worst part 
of the effects was that, wherever a leech had bitten 
you, the mud was certain to work in next day and 
produce a nasty, running sore. Even to-day, I 
have a good many Samar scars on my legs. 



CHAPTER XXXII 

Whilst we were away on the Oras expedition, the 
garrison at San Ramon had an adventure, which, 
but for Amyas' promptitude, might have resulted in 
the capture of the fort. The third morning after 
we had left, the sentry on the stockade saw what 
appeared to be a party of native troops coming 
along the beach from the direction of Oras. He 
turned out the guard, and summoned the lieutenant 
in command. The latter, a very nice youngster, 
but one very new to the work, was inclined to think 
it was our party returning. At anyrate, he pro- 
posed to allow the new-comers to approach a good 
deal nearer the fort, the gate of which was open, 
with the guard drawn up outside. Amyas, how- 
ever, took a different view. He pointed out the 
absence of any white man, and declared he could 
see only one or two rifles ; then, while the lieutenant 
was still uncertain, he settled the question in 
characteristic fashion by picking up a rifle, and 
firing a shot just over the heads of the strangers, 

A moment later, all doubts had vanished. The 
band fled back to the cover of the jungle, from 
which two or three futile bullets were discharged at 
the fort. The supposed troops consisted of some 
fifty pulajanes dressed in the uniforms captured at 
Dolores and Oras, whilst, as we learnt later, there 
were nearly a hundred and fifty more bolomen 
lurking in the jungle, ready to dash out the moment 
their comrades had reached the gateway of the fort. 
341 



342 THE DIARY OF 

It was, in fact, the same band which we had been 
hunting at San Polycarpio. 

That day was a busy one at San Ramon. Sacks 
were filled with sand and placed along the platform 
of the palisade, rifles were cleaned and ammunition 
boxes arranged at convenient intervals. From the 

O 

smoke rising amongst the trees, it was evident that 
the pulajanes were camped about two hundred yards 
off, and from time to time the garrison could hear 
their war chants. It seemed absolutely certain that 
an attack would be made after dark, and no man 
slept that night. More than once, the defenders 
thought it was coming, as the voices grew nearer ; 
and just about dawn, when a dozen torches suddenly 
flashed out, only some fifty yards away, there 
seemed no longer any doubt. A volley ripped out 
from the palisade, a couple of bullets came back 
from the jungle, and then — it was all over. When 
daylight came, the pulajanes had disappeared. 
Their fires were out, and not a trace of them was 
to be found. We never knew why they retreated 
so suddenly, and afterwards, when sixty-five out 
of that band of over two hundred attacked the 
fort at a time when the whole garrison was 
present, their conduct seemed even more extra- 
ordinary. 

The following day we returned from Oras in a 
coastguard steamer which had fortunately happened 
to pick us up on the coast. As soon as we landed, 
the lieutenant gave us the news of what had 
happened the night before. Naturally, I looked 
round for Amyas, but could not see him. How- 
ever he strolled out of the jungle a moment later, 
shot-gun in hand. He had been out, alone, to see 




MAI.COI.M AM) STAM.KV PON' r A I. IIVATT, 1 9OO. 



1 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 343 

if any pulajanes had been killed or wounded by the 
volley fired just before dawn. 

The coastguard steamer had, of course, no 
provisions for us. We might have assumed that. 
However, she promised to return very soon with 
everything we needed. I sent a large batch of 
copy by her, and, as the skipper posted this in one 
of the other islands, thus disarming suspicion, it 
was delivered safely ; and its publication made a 
considerable sensation in Manila, where, hitherto, 
the true state of affairs had been successfully con- 
cealed from the public. 

The departure of that coastguard marked the 
beginning of our lean time. We started it with 
nothing in the storehouse but tinned salmon, 
mouldy rice and some weevily army biscuits, no 
tea, coffee, tobacco or meat. The salmon, however, 
did not last very long, and then we had to forage 
round for something else to eat with our rice. 
Already, Crockett had talked of eating bats, and 
we had laughed at him. Now we found that, as 
usual, he was a true prophet. The day the salmon 
gave out we had our first bat hunt, paddling out in 
our canoes to a little island at the head of the bay, 
where bats in scores were hanging from the branches 
of every big tree. We shot them down with our 
Winchesters, and the soldiers gave them the coup 
de grace as they lay on their backs on the ground, 
trying to fight with claws and teeth. They were 
the most repulsive-looking brutes imaginable, about 
three feet six across the wings, with furry bodies 
and devilish faces, and their sickly white flesh 
tasted much as they themselves had looked. Still, 
we were very hungry, and that made a difference. 



344 THE DIARY OF 

The bats were only the beginning, for it was 
exactly a month from the time the salmon was 
finished until the steamer arrived with stores. I 
wish I had our complete menus for those thirty 
days. Bat-stew and rice was, of course, the staple 
article, the staff of life ; but sometimes we managed 
to vary it a little. There were a few toucans to be 
obtained in the jungle, and now and then we bagged 
one, but the local variety was small and stringy, 
whilst there was always the chance of a boloman 
bagging yourself instead. A large iguana, yellow 
and black, was by no means bad, when you did not 
recollect what he looked like in life ; and the same 
could be said of the cuttlefish we found in the pools 
at low tide ; but a stewed hawk, which we tried one 
day when there were no bats, was voted a failure. 
He tasted what he was — a bird of prey. 

The old fish corral belonging to the town had 
been partially destroyed by the pulajanes ; but the 
men repaired it, and we hoped for great results. 
However, we were disappointed. The catches 
made were so small that there was not even enough 
fish for the rapidly increasing number of sick, except 
on one red-letter day when we secured a small 
ground shark. The men ate monkeys, which they 
shot in the jungle near by, and the smell of these 
being roasted invariably made us ill, but still, it was 
impossible to complain. The poor little fellows 
never murmured once, possibly because of their 
intense personal loyalty to Crockett, though the 
fact that, like ourselves, they were clean out of 
tobacco told severely on their spirits. They ceased 
chatting, ceased card-playing, and began to spend 
their whole time on the seaward side of the palisade, 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 345 

watching for the coastguard steamer which did not 
come. 

Once, at the end of the third week, we had a few 
minutes of wild excitement. A soldier, who had 
climbed a big tree just outside the palisade, suddenly 
cried out that he could see smoke beyond the outer 
mangrove swamp. In a moment, everyone was 
straining his eyes, and then the vessel herself came 
in sight — a large cargo steamer some two miles 
away, heading up through the Straits of San 
Bernardino, her crew probably unaware even that 
the island was in a state of rebellion. 

Besides the mere question of hunger, which was 
bad enough, the uncertainty of the whole situation 
began to tell on us. We were cut off entirely from 
the rest of the world ; we had not even heard a 
rumour from anywhere, and we began to wonder 
whether a disaster elsewhere, or even a general 
rising throughout the archipelago, was not the 
reason for the delay in sending us stores. The 
authorities knew the position in which we were 
placed, and it seemed inconceivable that they 
should not trouble to relieve us. Moreover, we 
had heard at Oras that the pulajanes were becoming 
stronger in numbers and more daring in their tactics. 
For all practical purposes, we were besieged, even 
if we saw none of the enemy, for we had so many 
sick, and the rest were so run down, that we were 
not in a position to venture inland. We could only 
sit still and wait. During that month, at head- 
quarters they had not the slightest idea whether 
Crockett's force still existed, or whether we had all 
been massacred, and, as it turned out afterwards, 
apparently they did not care greatly. They had 



346 THE DIARY OF 

sent Crockett out on a futile errand, quartered him 
in a ruined town of no strategic importance, where, 
practically speaking, he could do nothing more than 
wait for the pulajanes to attack him, and with that 
their interest in him seemed to end. 

Looking back on it now, I think the most ex- 
traordinary part of the business so far as we were 
concerned was that we did not quarrel. We had 
nothing to eat, nothing to smoke, nothing to do, 
and yet there was not even a squabble. Amyas was 
the only one who managed to find any occupation. 
He wandered out into the clearing one day, routed 
through the heap of ashes where the pulajanes had 
made a bonfire of the Presidente's furniture, and 
finally returned with a slightly charred table leg. He 
was going to make a piccolo banjo, he said. The next 
thing was the body. A couple of miles away, one 
of us had shot a pulajan with a remarkably large 
head, and we knew that the skull was still there, 
beside the trail. Crockett, who was keenly inter- 
ested, suggested fetching this, but, as we had no 
saw of any sort, it would have been almost impos- 
sible to cut it down ; so, in the end, Amyas made 
use of an abnormally big cocoanut shell. Frets 
were fashioned out of some tortoiseshell we had 
taken off another pulajan ; pegs came from a 
smashed guitar which we had found on the Bat 
Island ; there had been a long tress of black hair 
glued to it with dried blood, so we were pretty 
certain of its story. The question of a vellum 
worried Amyas at first, worried us all in fact. We 
tried monkey skin and failed ; then, one day, a 
pulajan dog came within range, and the problem 
was solved. Amyas' sole tool was an old pocket 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 347 

knife ; but that banjo exists to-day, beautifully 
finished, and as true in tone as any you would buy 
in a big West End shop. 

The last meal we had before the coastguard 
steamer came in was boiled snake. The bat- 
hunting party had been out, and found, to their 
dismay, that the bats were missing — apparently 
we had scared them off — but one of the soldiers 
had shot a fourteen-feet-long python, which was 
chopped into six-inch sections and delivered to the 
cook. The flesh was a kind of sickly white, and 
when ready for table exuded a yellow grease. I 
was deadly hungry, but still it was too much for 
me. I got up and went to the edge of the stockade 
feeling rather bad, but a moment later I had for- 
gotten most of my troubles, for the lookout man in 
the tree shouted that he could see the coastguard 
steamer, actually see her. 

That night the pulajanes might have taken Fort 
San Ramon. We were lethargic, to put it nicely. 
We smoked big, black, rank cigars, and drank even 
ranker Kentucky Rye, and then we fed : and after 
that we smoked and drank more rye whisky until 
the ship's cook had got another meal ready for us. 
Had we not been living for a month on bats and rice 
and water, and been trying to make cigars of paw- 
paw leaves } 

After all, there was very little news. They had 
not worried about Crockett at headquarters — that 
was the only explanation given. They knew he 
was a resourceful man — very different from them- 
selves ; moreover, he was a Southern gentleman of 
crood family and they, as Yankees, were not likely 
to feel kindly towards him. There was a good 



348 THE DIARY OF 

deal of jealousy. Time after time, Crockett had 
done things they would never have dared even to 
talk about, so, naturally, they would not have shed 
many tears over his disappearance. Then, too, a 
new factor had entered into the situation. We, 
ourselves, had become of importance during that 
month. Our articles had got through to Manila, 
and the officials were thirsting for our blood. We 
had shown them up badly, no difficult matter in the 
circumstances, and — I say it deliberately, knowing 
it to be true — one at least of the commissioners 
was using his utmost endeavour to get us killed. 
Charitable people used to say of this man that he 
was merely a typical politician with a touch of the 
fanatic in him, that, whilst he was primarily out 
after the dollar, he also believed sincerely in the 
brown-brother theory. Personally, I am not sure 
about the latter part. I am quite ready to believe 
he was dishonest and dishonourable, otherwise he 
would have stopped the Samar revolt at the outset, 
as he could have done ; but I believe, too, that the 
man was a traitor to his own country, that he was 
selling information, and possibly arms as well, to 
the insurrectos ; otherwise, it would be almost 
impossible to explain his savage animosity towards 
both the army and ourselves. I can see him now, 
with his lean, pale, wolf's face, snarling at us on the 
landing of the palace. But that was later, when we 
had exposed his schemes, and he knew the army 
must go down to Samar. At the moment, how- 
ever, all he could do was to hold up our correspond- 
ence, have it stolen in fact, and give orders to the 
coastguard skippers not to allow us on board their 
vessels — in short, when Crockett's party was taken 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 349 

away, we were to be left alone on shore, for the 
pulajanes to murder us ; and, very possibly, the 
pulajanes had already been informed of this plan. 
Still, the commissioner was far away, and the 
skipper of that especial coastguard was a white 
man. He told us of the scheme, and he told us, 
too, with many Squarehead oaths, to come aboard 
and go round the coast with him. If the worst 
came to the worst, he said, he could appeal to the 
Governor General, who was a gentleman from the 
South, and not a grafter from Boston. 

So we went away on the coastguard, entirely 
upsetting the Manila plot for our elimination, and 
then we got in again with our old friends of the 
14th Infantry, and they helped us up into the 
interior, having at that time a launch running on 
the Katubig River, a service of considerable danger, 
as there were many shoals, and, whenever the 
little craft ran aground, the pulajanes began to 
take pot shots at her from the bank. 

Our main object now was to keep as far as 
possible from the Civil Government, so as not to 
be turned out of the island, and in this we were 
fairly successful. It was only when we had had 
enough of the campaign that we went back to 
Manila. Our later experiences were much the 
same as the earlier ones — dragging through the 
horrible mud, sleeping in swamps with the leeches 
crawling over you, chasing pulajanes whom you 
never saw until they were ready to turn the tables 
and chase you, starving and sweating and cursing 
your own folly in having come down to Samar at 
all. We should have given it up earlier but for 
one thing — we were the only British subjects in 



350 THE DIARY OF 

the field, and, for that reason, we could not go 
until there was a decent excuse for so doing. The 
Americans were not going to say we were afraid. 

The excuse came at last. Our later newspaper 
articles had literally goaded the Manila officials to 
fury, and orders had been given to stop us seeing 
anything more, to turn us out of the island at all 
costs. One of the senior officers of the 14th 
Infantry told us how matters stood. "You will 
see nothing more," he said, "and you are running 
a very big risk in staying. There is a transport 
coming in to-morrow. Go to Manila in her. After 
all, you have done your job ; the army must be 
sent down now to clean up this mess." I am 
glad to say the latter prophecy proved to be 
correct. As a result of our articles the civil autho- 
rities were forced to call on the military, and the 
pulajan revolt was not only confined to Samar, 
but subsequently crushed, as completely as such 
revolts can ever be crushed in the Philippines — 
which is not saying very much. 

We landed in Manila to find ourselves, if not 
famous, at least notorious. The wrath of the 
Government officials, especially of that section 
which was mixed up with native women, knew no 
bounds. Most of the men we had met before 
turned their backs on us now, at anyrate in public, 
though one or two certainly did warn us privately 
of the danger of being out alone after dark. The 
native police would certainly shoot us, they said, 
and we should not be the first to go that way. 

Our most violent enemy was the Commissioner 
for Commerce and Police, a person named Cameron 
Forbes. His first move was to declare we were 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 351 

not British at all, but we answered that by taking 
our passports to the British Consulate and having 
them inspected. I am afraid the Consul General 
looked on us as nuisances — in fact, he practically- 
told us so, and hinted that we had better leave the 
islands ; to which we replied that we would go when 
we had a chance, but that we were not going to let 
Forbes scare us away. 

The commissioner then tried a new plan. He, 
a white man, actually attacked us through the 
columns of a native paper. It sounds almost in- 
credible to anyone accustomed to British official 
methods, but I still cherish the translation of what 
Mr Cameron Forbes had to say to the editor of 
that scurrilous little sheet. Possibly, some ape- 
like native sub-editor, who was a ladrone in his 
spare time, altered the wording a little, as it has 
hardly the Forbes literary flavour, and yet the 
commissioner never attempted to deny that it was 
perfectly authentic. It runs : 

^^ The Manila Times" said Mr Forbes, "has a 
correspondent in Samar, who, aside from being a 
news gatherer for his paper, is a liar. It is this 
class of men with which the provinces throughout 
the archipelago are abundantly infested, who are 
constantly exciting the minds of the people against 
the Government by their deceitful methods. . . . 
There is reason to believe that with this article 
[one of mine] it was proposed to gain a Satanic 
end, raise a cloud in the minds of American readers 
in order that these might work for the establishment 
of a military rdgime in Samar. But they are 
foiled. In the Scouts and constabulary now 
operating in Samar, the Government has sufficient 



352 THE DIARY OF 

force to allow it to refuse to accede to the wishes 
of these ill-intentioned persons." 

It will be seen that the commissioner had not a 
very sparkling or witty style, preferring apparently 
to rely on the professional politician's usual weapon, 
personal abuse ; moreover, as I have said already, 
Samar was turned over to the military in the end, 
and all the well-laid plots were knocked to pieces ; 
but, at the moment, we were mainly concerned with 
the fact that this Commissioner of Commerce and 
Police had published what we considered to be a 
libel on us. 

We could have brought a civil action, claiming 
damages, but we had no funds, and, anyway, we 
had been told what the courts were like ; so we 
decided to take the other alternative and demand 
the arrest of the Commissioner of Police on a charge 
of criminal libel. We knew we should be refused, 
although we had what seemed a clear case ; but, at 
anyrate, there was a certain amount of fun to be 
got out of it, so, after warning the whole local 
press — I think we knew every man on it — we 
marched up to the judge's offices. 

We saw a white judge. He was rude and aggres- 
sive from the start, knowing who we were ; but he 
lay back on his seat and gasped when we asked 
for a warrant. He could only say : " Commissioner 
Forbes is an important man, a most important man. 
He is the President's friend." 

Amyas put it to him that, according to the Ameri- 
can theory, all inen were equal, and that, therefore, 
the importance of this person did not count at all. 
The judge was in a fix. He had seen the article, 
and he could not deny that we had a case, or that 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 353 

we had a right to a warrant ; but he got out of it 
by being insulting, which was an effective way, 
although rather weak from a legal point of view. 
We told him a few home truths, about his laws, his 
commissioner and himself, and we left him gasping. 
Poor wretch ! I can pity him now, because I believe 
he had some good feelings in him, whilst a post 
such as his, the position of a political judge, involves 
unrelieved ignominy. 

The press revelled in the incident. So many 
journalists had received savage sentences, four 
and five years' hard labour, for alleged libel, that 
the incident appealed to every newspaper man. I 
have known many pressmen, but I think I respected 
those in Manila more than any other crowd with 
which I have come in contact. They were plucky. 
If they were American citizens, they were entirely 
at the mercy of the Government. Anything could 
be construed as a libel, and the verdict and sen- 
tence were foregone conclusions. It was enough 
for them to be suspected of being in favour of the 
army, or opposed to corruption and the brown- 
brother theory, for them to be marked down for 
imprisonment. It was equally unsafe for them to 
offend the wife, or native mistress, of a high official, 
to omit a name in an account of some social func- 
tion. Yet they never crawled to the commissioners ; 
in fact, the very dangers of their occupation seemed 
to have called out all their best instincts, to have 
put them on their mettle. The press may occasion- 
ally be venial in the United States ; but in the 
Philippines it certainly stood for honour, independ- 
ence and honesty. It was, after the army, the 
best thing in Manila. 



354 THE DIARY OF 

We were anxious to get away from the islands 
as soon as possible. We had got all the copy we 
were likely to obtain, and the chances of making 
any more money were small ; but we had no wish 
to STO in the orthodox manner to Hong; Konsf and 
perhaps get stranded there. We could have got 
away due east, straight to San Francisco, but that 
was not what we wanted. The Russo-Japanese 
War was still going on — the Baltic Fleet had not 
yet reached Far Eastern waters — and we were 
anxious to see something of it. In common with 
most real white men in the East, our sympathies 
were, naturally, with the Russians, who were a 
civilised people, of our own colour, whilst their 
opponents are, at best, but veneered savages. But 
it was one thing to want to reach the seat of war, 
another thing actually to reach it, and our hopes 
had dwindled, almost to vanishing point, when, 
suddenly, the chance came. A certain famous 
British blockade runner put into Manila, minus 
some propeller blades, and through the Consul 
General, who was anxious to get rid of both her 
and ourselves, the skipper agreed to take us with 
him "to wherever he was going, probably to the 
bottom of the sea," as he put it. I do not know 
who was the more relieved, the Consul General or 
ourselves. He was going to see the last of us, 
which meant there would be no more frenzied 
protests from the palace concerning our writings, 
and we were going to get away from those islands 
where a native was the equal, if not the superior, 
of a white man. Moreover, as we were perfectly 
well aware that our real destination was Vladivo- 
stock, then on the point of being besieged, there 



A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 355 

were splendid possibilities of excitement and 
copy. 

We should have about a week to wait, the 
skipper told us ; so we settled down to kill the 
time as best we could. Everything seemed to be 
going right ; we had beaten the Government over 
the Samar question ; we had made Cameron Forbes 
the laughing stock of Manila ; we had got some 
splendid copy ; and now we were going once more 
into the thick of things. Then Fate intervened. 
Amyas went out one night to play the banjo at a 
friend's house in one of the suburbs, and returned 
in high spirits, though he remarked that a fly had 
bitten his cheek. Next morning, the fly bite had a 
black centre, and was paining him. We went to 
look for the English doctor and found he was away, 
so had to trust to an American. That evening- he 
went to the Civil Hospital ; forty-eight hours later 
he was dead. Anthrax, English surgeons now tell 
me it was, though the Americans did not recognise 
it as such. Nothing else could have killed so 
splendidly strong a boy in so short a space. He 
was game to the end, of course. He could not be 
otherwise. Only an hour before he died, he was 
talking to me of Vladivostock, wondering whether 
we should get there before the Japanese blockaded 
it. He had never known the fear of Death, and, 
perhaps for that reason, he never suspected that 
he might be dying. He simply went to sleep, and 
never awakened, leaving me alone. 

The Manila press was good to me. Words are 
quite inadequate to express my gratitude for what 
those American journalists and newspaper pro- 
prietors did in those days of sorrow. They made 



356 A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 

every arrangement for me, and, though I would not 
have the boy buried in foreign soil, every man on 
the press was present when the Bishop of the 
Philippines read the Last Service. Amyas' ashes 
now lie in his own country, the England he loved 
so well, but I know there are a score of towns 
in East and West where men still remember him 
for his grit, his sense of honour, his courage and, 
above all perhaps, for his sunny smile. 

I left the Philippines, and then I wandered up 
the China Coast, to Japan, Vancouver, San Fran- 
cisco, and thence across the United States. Finally, 
I came home to England, only twenty-eight in point 
of years, but middle-aged in reality, penniless, dis- 
appointed, weary, a broken man, to begin life anew, 
if I could. And that my Good Comrade has made 
possible. 



INDEX 



African coast fever, 164 
Afrikanders, 50, 156, 21 1 
Aliens, 117 
Allen, General, 313 
American Army, 301, 308 
Amous, 102, 124, 126 
Ancient workings, 234 
Arabs, 187 
Archers, 208 

Bamangwatu, 1 6 
Bats as food, 343 
Beer drinks, 136 
Beira, 161, 240 

Black-water fever, 47, 211, 239 
Blockade runner, 354 
Bow-and-arrow natives, 184 
Buffalo, water, 335 
Bulawayo, 59 
Bushrangers, 57 

Calbayog, 307 
Canoes, 326 
Capetown, 157 
Careless, Leonard, 224 
Catbalogan, 310, 313 
Cattle-buying, 76 
Chartered Company, 40, 157 
Chinamen, 282 
Chivamba's, 98 
Cocoa folk, 136, 285 
Coffee, 231 

Cogswell & Harrison Rifles, 93, 
166 

357 



Cold storage, 224, 230 
Colonial-made gentlemen, 216 
Contraband of war, 293 
Corbin, General, 296 
Corruption in Manila, 300 
Cornishmen, 42 

Crockett, Captain, 316, 323, 338 
Crocodiles, 205 
Curepipe, 263 
Cyclones, 261 

Dagos, 240, 246, 292 
Dawson, Roger, 4 
D.B.S., 276 

Deck passengers, 254, 279, 290 
Delagoa Bay, 255 
Dolores, 309 
Domain Squatters, 7 
Donkeys, pack, 60, 62 
Drums, 137 
Dulwich College, 4 
Durban, 161, 241, 247, 251 
Dysentery, 51 

Enklednoor, 25, 98, 155 

Fever, 45, 49, 59, 194 
Forbes, Cameron, 350, 352 
Fricadelles, 56 

Gabaza, 129 

Geelong mine, 15, 32, 33, 54, 97 

139 
Germans in Boer War, 66 



358 



INDEX 



Germans in Singapore, 292 
Globe and PhcEnix mine, 1 39 
Gravesend lawyers, 140 
Guinea-fowl, new species, 174 
Gunpowder makers, 80 
Gwelo, 106 

Hawks as food, 344 
Hippo, 72, 89, 90, 169, 204 

Igut, 328 
Inventions, 9 
Itch, 147 

Jackalass, 68, 69 
Jim the Gaoler, 187 
Jim-jam Forest, 191 
Jungle, 177, 179, 199 

Katubig River, 349 

Khama, 1 7 

Koch, Dr Robert, 46 

Labour agency, 139 

Lawlor, E. J., 151, 216 

Lectures, 236, 269, 270, 273, 297 

Leyte s.s., 317 

Lions, 23, 27, 34, 65, 78, 81, 114, 

122, 152 
Lotsani River, 15, 18 

Mackenzie, John, 17 
Macloutsie, 24 
Macequece, 159, 163 
Madras, 286 
Manica Company, 159 
Manila, 293, 298, 350 
Masbate s.s., 318 
Mashona, 109, 117, 138, 180 
Matabele, 33 
Matabeleland, 10 
Mauritians, 267 



Mauritius, 256 

„ railway, 263 

„ tortoise, 266 

Meat with whiskers, 230 

Metcalfe, Sir Charles, 236 

Metford Rifles, 91, 92 

M'Hlengwi, 79, 138 

Mine life, 54 

M'Kupi's, 167, 100, 185 

M'Tchavi, 198, 203 

Native risings, 119 
Negapatam, 288 
N'Hlatu snake, 71 

Oras town, 306, 333 
Oras River, 334 

Palapye, 12 
Papa Pablo, 303 
Parke, Major, 308 
Penang, 291 
Pernicious article, 227 
Poisons, 130, 132 
Police, mounted, 53 
Poll tax, 225, 229 
Port Elizabeth, 12 
Port Louis, 257, 269 

„ „ Theatre, 270 
Portuguese, 187 
Prospecting, 233 
Provisional concession, 218 
Pulajanes, 304, 314 

Quack medicines, 235 
Quinine, 46, 195 

Race suicide, 113 
Randall, General, 296 
Rhodes, C. J., 77, loi, 160 
Rinderpest, 213 



INDEX 



359 



Romance of Rhodesia, 222 

Ronchi, Father, 163 

Rooi buck, 86, 170 

Royal game, 43 

Rubber, 144, 153, 158, 176, 189, 197 

Runinga, 148 

Sable antelope, 83, 172 
Sabi River, 145, 178 
Sahara, Emperor of, 235 
Salisbury, Fort, 224 
Samar, 303, 331 
San Polycarpio, 339 
„ Ramon, 320, 341 
Scarmanyorka, 105 
Schelm, 122, 126, 156 
Scouts, Philippine, 311 
Selous, F. C, 65 
Singapore, 291 
Snobbishness, 286 
Stores for expeditions, 64, 95 
Sultan S.S., 243 
Sydney Harbour, 3, 5 



Templars, Good, 282 
Thirst, 28 
Thomas' store, 146 
Tobacco industry, 193 
Trading, 118, 145, 213 
Transport road, 100, 220 
Trek oxen, no 

Umtali, 227 
Umzilakazi, 112 

Victoria Falls, 237 

„ Fort, 106, 212 
Virawa s.s., 277 

Waterbuck, 82, 211 
West Nicholson mine, 99 
Whisky, 24 
Williams, Dr, 154 
Witch doctor, 125 
Wright, General, 295 



Taft, William, H., 299 
Tcheredzi River, 85, 89 



Zamania s.s., 288 
Zeederberg, Doel, ii 



THB RIVBRSIOB PRBSS LIMITBO, BDINBURCH. 



APR m I9ij 



